


Challenge Five: Snatch

by Anonymous



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: F/F, F/M, M/M, Multi, Other, Summer Pornathon 2014
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-16
Updated: 2014-08-16
Packaged: 2018-02-13 09:14:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 88,097
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2145207
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Entries for Challenge Five: Snatch for the 2014 Summer Pornathon.</p><p>The voting post can be found <a href="http://summerpornathon.livejournal.com/106121.html">here</a></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Group A (warnings)

**Author's Note:**

> Pairings and warnings included in chapters 1-4.
> 
> Chapters 5-8 are repeats of chapters 1-4 without pairing and warning information.

**#1**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** none

“Arthur! We’ve got to hurry before—” Merlin froze upon stumbling down the stairs, keys clenched tightly in his fist as he stared at the irate blonde who stood with her arms crossed defensively across her chest from the inside of the cell was supposed to be housing the kidnapped prince. “Who are you and why are you wearing Prince Arthur’s clothes?”

“It’s me, you idiot, and if it’s all the same to you, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

+

They ended up talking about it. They had to. Because the knights who had accompanied Merlin on the rescue mission just wouldn’t let it go.

The discussion is what led Arthur to camping out in the woods just outside of Camelot, rather than returning home. He wanted his manly bits back and, considering his father’s stance on magic, he didn’t want to risk the king refusing to allow him to seek a cure. Because as Merlin so helpfully pointed out, why would he need a cure? Uther’s heir was still alive, still healthy, and still perfectly capable of producing babies. So what if he had to be introduced as Princess Ar…ness?

Plus, there was the underlying fear that his father would look at him and see his dead mother and fly off the deep end.

No, none of that settled well with Arthur at all. So he resorted to lying hidden in wait until Gaius could find a way to fix him.

+

“So…have you touched them yet?”

Arthur refused to look away from the dwindling fire and grunted a non-answer in response. He had been a woman for almost a week now, and was starting to feel a bit depressed. Having Merlin visit as often as he could wasn’t nearly as encouraging as his servant seemed to think it should be.

“What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” he groused out upon catching Merlin’s almost overly eager expression.

“Your…” Merlin hand bent towards himself and he waved a finger at his own chest.

“…Are you asking me if I’ve groped myself now that I’m a woman?” Arthur was pretty sure he was both offended and outraged.

“No!” Merlin automatically denied at his master’s fury. “No! Definitely…yes. Okay, yes, I am. Come on, you can’t honestly tell me you’re not in the least bit curious?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. In his frustration, it actually hadn’t occurred to him to take advantage of his predicament. But the excited shine in Merlin’s grin had him reaching up almost automatically and giving his right breast a gentle squeeze.

“Squishy,” he answered dryly, returning his gaze to the fire.

Merlin’s smile fell right off his face. “What, that’s it? But everyone already knows that!”

Arthur smirked. “ _Do_ you already know that?”

The scowl that darkened Merlin’s face had Arthur feeling much better than he had several minutes ago. He could feel his morose mood lifting now that he found a way to mercilessly tease his companion.

+

A high-pitched whine escaped from Arthur’s throat as both teeth and tongue scraped at his nipple. Somewhere in the last few days, the teasing took a dangerous turn that had been far too tempting for both Merlin and Arthur to ignore.

Arthur had no idea it felt so good to have his breasts squeezed and kneaded. To have his nipples pinched and sucked. To learn that the arousal of a woman was felt so much differently than a man.

This would probably explain why he was unable to stop himself from straddling Merlin. From grinding down against the tale tell hardness as soon as he located it.

Noises kept spilling past his lips as Merlin touched him. Distantly, he was aware of Merlin talking to him. Pleading with him. But all he could focus on was the building tightness deep within his gut. Of the wetness he was exuding that was causing his breeches to slip and slide against him in the best of ways. Of how badly he wanted Merlin to push against him harder. Deeper. To breach into him.

“Arthur, I’m going to come—!”

Arthur’s eyes snapped open sightlessly and he tilted his gaze down to take in Merlin’s pained expression as he struggled to continue to focus on his appointed task of playing with Arthur’s breasts.

So Arthur rode him faster.

Merlin’s hands dropped to Arthur’s hips, where he gripped him tight and cried out as his orgasm overwhelmed him.

The sound snapped at the tension that had been driving Arthur, and suddenly the muscles that ran from between his legs up inside of him were clenching and unclenching in a manner that far surpassed all previous beliefs of what true pleasure felt like. Wave after wave of ecstasy washed over him for far longer than any orgasm he had ever had before.

By the time finally regained his sense of self, he noticed his eyes were damp and he was being cradled close to Merlin, who was making soothing noises while placing gentle kisses wherever his mouth could reach.

A distant part of Arthur wanted to scoff and push Merlin away; to complain that he wasn’t a _girl_ —

—except he was.

Right now, he really and truly was.

And he had no idea for how long he would continue to be.

* * *

**#2**

**Pairing(s):** Morgana/Magic, Gwen/Mithian  
 **Warning(s):** dub-con

The clock was flashing 12:00. It had been twelve for an eternity, since she clawed her way out from a bad dream and her erratic magic lashed out and cut the power at two in the morning. Someone had managed to restore the power quickly enough, but she had not yet managed to make herself care enough to get out of bed to set the time, not when it was already the fifth time in three nights, and she had no classes in the morning.

Still the images from her dream lingered, flashing through her mind the instant she closed her eyes, without fail: Gwen, sprawled wantonly across Morgana's bed like an offering, head thrown back to show off her slim neck amd fine collarbones, full breasts heaving, that little whimper just the way Morgana imagined every time Gwen had an especially fudgy chocolate brownie from their favourite coffee shop. Gwen's legs, spread open as wide as they would go while Mithian's head bowed over her exposed centre and devoured sweet Gwen like a vicious animal, triumphantly taking what Morgana had always believed would be hers, if only Gwen didn't only have eyes for Arthur. Why had she introduced them?

Too late for regrets. The two had taken a while to warm to each other, both stubborn and opinionated, but Morgana didn't even know when they had added kissing and making out to their little study/debate sessions, only one day Mithian had made a joke that should have offended Gwen with its privilege, and Gwen only shot her a searing look and promised to make her pay, _later_.

Walking in to see them necking, Mithian looking so much like Morgna... she had quietly let herself out from Gwen's little bedsit without alerting them, and taken herself home to rage and cry.

This was foolish and useless. Since she was hot and frustrated already, Morgana skinned out of her nightgown and lay back to revel in the softness of the indulgent silk sheets she had bought herself for her birthday, meaning to invite Gwen to try them out in a perfectly innocent sleepover. She stretched out and cupped her own breasts, playing with her nipples and trying to squeeze her legs together.

So dull, so unsatisfactory. She wanted the touch of other hands, bold and surprising, unpredictable. A hot mouth on her skin, a slippery, sinuous tongue. Perhaps her magic...?

When the hands rose up from the sheets around her, she gasped, and found herself seized before she could think to react. All sorts of hands, large and small, soft and callused, gripping her arms and legs and roaming over her body, stroking, ticklingrubbing all over, interspersed with startling little pinches. Massaging her mound through her panties.

She couldn't decide if she was more delighted or frightened by this new outburst of her untrained magic, pulling uncertainly at the firm hands holding her open for the others to roam, exploring her her ways she wouldn''t have imagined - how were the insides of her arms and her boring belly so sensitive?

Then the mouths joined in. Soft kisses, suckling touches, one sharp nip on her buttocks at the same time a hot tongue ran over the wet crease the hand between her legs had rubbed into her panties. Fuck, yes, right there. Morgana squirmed, pushing up into it, and obliging hands pulled the sodden panties down her legs.

She decided to go with it and let her magic have its way.

* * *

**#3**

**Pairing(s): Morgana/Gwen**  
 **Warning(s): maybe dub-con because non-human**

Morgana glanced from the pages of her book to the hologram above the controls. 45 minutes to landing. The book in her hands was a relic, one of the few left over from Earth, titled “The Great Gatsby.” The ostentatious mansion, the description of Earth’s old cities, and the simplicity of the characters’ lives without technology seemed so foreign to Morgana, yet she couldn’t help herself. Silent moments of solitude like these were her chance to indulge. 

Behind her, the door slid open and an android walked in. “Captain Le Fay, we are close to arrival time. I am here to make the announcement.” Morgana made a small noise of affirmation, and continued to read.  
“Hello passengers and staff, we will be landing in 45 minutes time to the planet of Astillon. Please make sure your belongings are ready to go,” the android said over the intercom. 

Putting her book down again, Morgana quietly murmured, “How can Gatsby keep loving her?”

“Excuse me, Captain Le Fay?”

“Sorry Gwen, it’s nothing. It’s just this book, the characters are so hopeless. Why on earth would someone set their whole lives up for one person who doesn’t even want them?”

Gwen stared at her blankly.

“I forget that you can’t understand love. More the better for you, I suppose. You would never fall into such a trap, you’d never even want to,” Morgana sighed.

Gwen stepped closer to where Morgana was sitting, feet propped up right next to the control panel. “It is true that we cannot feel love. However, androids understand the mechanics of love and attraction, perhaps better than humans do. We can analyze every movement, every micro-expression on humans’ faces. And we can use this knowledge to service humans to optimal capacity.”

Morgana felt her cheeks heat up, despite being far from innocent. “Are you offering to service me?” Morgana asked.

“I was not at that moment, but your body language and chemical signals suggest that you would like me to. For example, your temperature just rose several degrees, your body shifted slightly towards me, you began to blink more rapidly, and your pupils dilated. Would you like me to continue, or would you prefer that I begin to service you?” Gwen said, without pause the whole way through. 

Without needing to wait for an answer, Gwen lifted Morgana’s legs off the panel and scooped her up so that she was sitting on it instead. Morgana gasped, and helped Gwen undo the various clasps that made up her bodysuit. Shucking her weapons belt and boots along the way, eventually she was completely exposed. Gwen went to her knees without hesitation, only pausing to spread Morgana’s legs open. She leaned in and experimentally darted her tongue into Morgana’s folds, causing Morgana to twitch in pleasure at the sudden contact. Continuing along the same vein, Gwen continued to lick into Morgana, taking time to suck and lightly nibble at intervals. After making sure that Morgana was thoroughly aroused, Gwen first tried inserting one finger into Morgana, then another. It struck Morgana that Gwen’s fingers were warmer than she expected, always somehow thinking that androids were cold. 

Eventually, Gwen increased her speed to the point where her hand and tongue were moving faster. Morgana convulsed beneath her, feeling almost over-stimulated but needing to finish. With a final cry, a fountain of clear liquid pulsed out of Morgana, and she panted heavily. Gwen slowed down her pace and came to a stop, gently sliding her fingers out. She stood back up, and before anything, walked calmly to the intercom. 

“Hello passengers, please prepare for landing, as we are now only 15 minutes away.”

* * *

**#4**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana]  
 **Warning(s):** BDSM so power imbalance and dub-con ish, but not really. mention of wax play, toys used

Gwen whimpered, trying desperately to think past the haze clouding her mind. 

“What does this mean?” Morgana hissed her question again, crowding close and using the D-ring on Gwen’s collar to force her to meet Morgana’s steely eyes.

She thought back to moments after she’d first come here.

_“Kneel,” a clear voice commanded, leaving no room for Gwen to consider disobedience._

_She swallowed, glancing around at all the contraptions made of black leather and hard metal scattered about the room. ‘You want this’ she reminded herself, which was true; Gwen had been lusting after someone to dominate her for years. Besides, the payment was non-refundable._

_Her knees hit the cold cement floor, and she winced, hoping that she wouldn’t have to stay in this position for very long._

_Morgana, or the women whose sheer presence assured her was Morgana, approached. Her balance was perfect, even in six-inch heeled leather boots that looked like they could kill a man._ Morgana _looked like she could kill a man. Gwen’s wide eyes trailed up the woman’s fishnet-clad legs, cataloging her pale, creamy skin, and enticingly gorgeous thighs._

_The dominatrix was wearing a frilly red and black corset with what looked like skimpy black spandex shorts. Although Gwen didn’t know if a thing that small could be called shorts._

_She continued up, pausing at Morgana’s ample breasts that almost spilled out of her corset, and to the intimidating woman’s face. Morgana had paused, fully aware of Gwen’s inspection, and by the look on her face, knew that she would surpass any expectation._

_Their eyes locked for a fleeting moment before Gwen dropped her gaze to the floor, a hot blush staining her cheeks._

_The click-click-click of Morgana’s heels was the only thing alerting Gwen of her movements. The sound faded away, in the direction Gwen thought she remembered seeing a table, before returning and getting even closer than before. Morgana stopped when her boots filled Gwen’s vision, as she still hadn’t lifted her head._

_She knelt, tilting Gwen’s jaw up with a silky smooth hand, and looping something around her neck with the other._

_“This is your collar. It means that for tonight, you belong to me. You’re mine, Gwen.” Morgana stared into her eyes, and Gwen felt broken-open, and more vulnerable than she’d been in a long time._

_“Yes, mistress. I’m yours.” She whispered back, not looking away for a moment._

Morgana roughly pinched one of her tender nipples, instantly demanding Gwen’s full attention. Before her mistress had to ask for a third time, Gwen rushed out, “I’m yours! It means I’m yours!”

“Very good, pet.” Morgana soothed, releasing her tight grip on her pet’s collar to stroke her beautifully arched neck, trailing her hand down to rest on Gwen’s other nipple. She teased them both, rubbing circles with one hand and flicking the tip of a nipple with the other. She alternated, keeping up this pattern until Gwen was moaning and pulling against her restraints, need clear in every movement of her body.

Morgana finally relented, taking a step back from the table Gwen was strapped to, so that she could admire the view before her.

Gwen was flushed with pleasure, straining towards her mistress, but unable to move with her hands tied above her head, exposing her hypersensitive breasts, her torso restrained, feet flat, knees bent, and legs spread invitingly, held apart with intricately knotted ropes.

Morgana leisurely sauntered forward, grabbing and powering on the vibrator that had been resting on the table next to Gwen’s head.

Buzzing filled the air, and Gwen moaned in anticipation, shifting her hips around and wrenching her arms against the ties.

Morgana smiled and trailed the tip of a finger down her pet’s side, passing over a trail of dried wax from earlier games.

She swept her finger up over Gwen’s hip and down, lingering in the crease of her groin and thigh. Gwen’s breath hitched and she pushed her hips up, searching. Morgana smoothed her palm up Gwen’s thigh to her knee, pausing for a moment to meet Gwen’s gorgeous brown eyes. Then she pushed, spreading her wide open, and pressed the vibrator directly against her clit.

Gwen keened, moving her hips back and trying to get away from the powerful vibrations held against her swollen clit. She felt her own juices dripping down her ass and thighs, and pressed her arms to the table, trying to get the leverage to _move_.

But Gwen could only moan and shake through the best orgasm of her life as her mistress unrelentingly dragged her to heights of pleasure she’d never known.

* * *

**#5**

**Pairing(s):** Elena/Mithian  
 **Warning(s):** None

Even after the ID-check at the entrance, Mithian still found herself startled by the very...adult nature of the Adult Novelty Expo. Beside her, Elena vibrated with excitement to match the row of battery-powered butt plugs buzzing away in the first booth.

Of course, Elena had been ridiculously excited ever since she found out that the Expo was sharing a venue with the neurology research conference Mithian attended every year. The applause hadn't even died down after Mithian's presentation on intramedullary surgeries before Elena grabbed her by the hand and dragged her to the other side of the convention center.

Elena's wide eyes took everything in as they wandered down the aisles. Mithian mostly watched her beautiful wife, but she took a glance at each display and demonstration of sex toys, varying from the elegant to the outrageous. She knew one of them would be coming home with them.

By the time they reached the last exhibit, Mithian had a warm glow of arousal between her legs. Elena kept shifting every time they stopped; her panties must be soaked through.

 _PEN-TECH_ the sign read, and under it, _The Dragon._ A distinguished-looking older man in a suit stood on a platform next to what Mithian assumed was the Dragon. 

"—unlike most sex machines made to simulate male-female coitus, the Dragon was designed for the specific pleasure needs of the female body." He gestured to the saddle-like seat, from which a large dildo protruded. "The powerful vibration combined with the unique rotation satisfies like nothing else."

He held up a remote control and pressed a button. The machine came to life with a roar. He pressed another button, and the dildo began to circle around. Mithian couldn't help imagining how that would feel inside her and lost a breath to the new surge of arousal.

Beside her, Elena let out a loud whimper. Several people turned to look at her—including the man on the platform. "My dear, would you care to try it?"

"Me?" Elena's hand tightened around Mithian's fingers. "Oh! Um."

"Yes," Mithian answered for her. "I think she would."

Elena beamed with jittery anticipation. "Oh, I would," she breathed. "I really would."

They climbed up onto the platform and shook hands with the man from Pen-tech. While he demonstrated how to prepare the machine, Elena slipped her thumbs up under her sundress and slipped out of her knickers. Mithian tucked them into the pocket of her suit jacket. 

When the machine was ready with the new dildo Elena had chosen, the man genteelly held her fingers to steady her as she lowered herself down. Elena reached under her skirt to guide the dildo into her; after a few bounces, Elena closed her eyes with a smile, and Mithian knew she was happily impaled. 

The man showed her how to lean forward onto the padded armrest. Then he came and offered Mithian the remote. "If you would care to do the honors, madam?"

She took the remote and knelt down by the armrest. "Ready, love?" she asked, but before Elena could answer, she hit the button to bring the Dragon to life.

"Oh!" Elena gasped as the first powerful vibrations went through her. "Oh, that's—"

She started giggling and pressed her hand over her mouth. Then she groaned into her palm as Mithian pressed the switch that made the dildo rotate inside her. Her head fell down, blond hair cascading over her arms. 

Mithian increased the speed, making Elena whine and whimper. The man was explaining each feature as Mithian used it on Elena. A larger crowd was gathering, so many people eager to see Elena enjoy the powerful orgasm Mithian was building inside her. 

She played the switches with surgical precision, reading every twitch and squirm of her wife's beloved body. Elena tossed her head and dropped it back to her arms, tiny cries growing louder as the pleasure overwhelmed her. "I can't even see," she moaned as her hips rocked against the machine, almost pulling it up off the floor.

The moment had come; Mithian pushed the machine to bring Elena to completion. Elena's body tautened and jerked as the orgasm rocked through her. Then she slumped down, panting.

Mithian slowed the Dragon, letting it take Elena through a few aftershocks before stopping it. A roar of applause from their audience replaced the roar of the machine. 

Elena lifted her head with a blissed-out smile. Mithian looked at her scarlet cheeks and glassy eyes, and then looked up at the salesman. 

"Do you ship internationally?" she asked.

* * *

**#6**

**Pairing(s):** Sophia/Elyan, Lancelot/Gwen, Vivian/Leon, Elena/Mithian/Freya, Gwaine/Percy, Elena/Mithian/Freya/Gwaine/Percy, Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Sneaky space pirates and assorted shenanigans

When they arrive, the collected fortunes of the House of Liope, stowed away in the remote cave of an ice dwarf on the outer rim of the Sion Galaxy (or as it is more popularly known: 'The Bum-Fuck of Absolutely Shite Nowhere' Galaxy), are already gone.

Not that they don't recognise the gleaming gold dragon left behind on a swath of red.

~~~

"I think we all know who is responsible for this travesty," Morgana says shortly as she paces across the deck. "As a matter of fact, I am willing to bet three whole barrels of Priscillian glow-whiskey that the perpetrators in question waited until the absolute last minute _to take what is rightfully ours_ before hying off right under our noses, just to giggle and squeal like the lazy bunch of sodding thieves they are."

Morgana pivots and retraces her steps, scowl firmly in place.

"My brother clearly fails to grasp even the basics of Pirate Code. Well. _No one_ steals from Morgana noc Pendragon of the Fey, Captain of the S.L. Avalon Sharpshift. And especially not my _brother_ ," Morgana growls and turns to face them suddenly. "So I ask you, will we let this insult stand? Are we men or are we _ladies_?"

They all heave a cacophonous pirate cheer at that.

~~~

The collected fortunes of the House of Liope, which the multi-talented and somewhat magic crew of the S.L. Avalon Sharpshift spent months gathering information about and tracking down before the treacherous men of the A.L. Golden Dragondancer filched it out from under them (breaking subsection 14 of trade rule 11 of the Pirate Code), include:

\- 10 billion Lionesian Riats  
\- _Five_ barrels of Priscillian glow-whiskey  
\- 34 million Galactic Francs  
\- Original copies of the ancient Terran 'Harry Potter' works (probably fakes, but very, very good ones)  
\- An unfathomable number of priceless Liopian Findant Emeralds, upon which the House of Liope had amassed its fortune in the first place

~~~

When they arrive on the pristine beach of her brother's pirate homeworld (all pirate homeworlds must have beaches, although no one remembers exactly why), Morgana orders her women to prepare for battle, full makeup and slinky dresses and bikinis at their disposal.

They know what to do.

~~~

"What about Arthur and Merlin?" Gwen asks as she leaves, frown marring her forehead.

Morgana smirks. "Leave them to me."

~~~

When Sophia flicks her hair over a creamy shoulder from where she's standing at the shore, Elyan's eyes follow the glossy ringlets as if in a trance. Later, she laughs wildly as she rides his fat cock and keeps him pinned to the ground and keening with a flash in her eyes.

They both get off with a howl despite the sand which gets _everywhere_.

~~~

Lancelot, because he is a would-be gentleman of the highest calibre, falls to his knees before Gwen like she is the ancient Terran goddess Aphrodite herself, slick little tongue burrowing inside of her until she tries to squirm away, anything but this unbearable intensity of _too much, but oh, oh, don't stop, please, never stop– YES._

~~~

Vivian smiles demurely and appeals to Leon's honour, letting him lead her to a _clean_ and comfortable bed where he spends the night basking in her whimpered moans and showing her the many varied uses of interested cocks.

~~~

Freya, Mithian and Elena set up the most elaborate honey-trap, since only a truly awe-inspiring display could persuade Gwaine and Percy's faces out of each other's arses.

So when the two cock-addled fuckwits stumble across where Mithian is splayed prone over a towel, Elena eagerly teasing at her swollen, dripping cunt and biting the inside of her thigh and Freya riding her face with her head thrown back whilst furiously fingering her clit, even they have to stop and stare, wide-eyed, and unable to resist pouncing on them.

~~~

All the boys wake to pulse-beamers levelled in their faces.

Gwaine pouts and Elena ruffles his hair. "You're really cute, but there's nothing you can do that a dildo and my captain can't."

~~~

Leon frowns at Morgana from where she's smirking in front of their ship. "Arthur never sleeps without a weapon–"

Morgana laughs. "I highly doubt Arthur was sleeping. There's nothing like a bit of Dili truth-wine to keep one's brother occupied."

~~~

When they finally open the door to the ship, they find a red and panting Arthur on all fours with Merlin's tongue buried in his arse.

"Oh, thank all that is holy, _you two finally fucked_!" Gwaine cheers.

~~~

The treasure, however, has been snatched from right within their grasp.

* * *

**#7**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Brief Graphic Description, Character Death, Mild Violence, Incubus Merlin

Blood splatters across Uther's lips.

“You'll never have my son,” he murmurs, chest rattling with bone fragments.

The man kneeling above presses a hand over him, letting his magic soak in, easing Uther's suffering. He admires his defiance.

“Arthur Pendragon's already been promised,” comes hot breathing into the duke's ear. “ _You_ promised him to me…”

Uther dies alone in that corridor, moments before the guards discover him.

*

Once a deal is struck, it cannot be broken.

Twenty years after Ygraine gives birth, he finally meets Arthur on the hunting range of Tintagel Castle. Arthur's beloved falcon perches on his unshielded arm. He strokes its feathers affectionately, hearing Arthur demand his name.

“Merlin,” he answers, grinning with all his teeth.

Arthur fumes, leather-gloved hands fisting. “I'll have a name, and I _will_ have it before I toss you out.”

“And I've already told you.”

From their short distance apart, he examines Merlin's blue, blue eyes. “Have we met?”

Merlin shakes his head.

“No, I don't believe so,” he lies, his eerily charming grin in place. “I never forget a face.”

*

Merlin feels his entire body force to a halt.

Beneath him, the painted, interlocking seals of the Key of Solomon and 5th Pentacle of Mars hums dangerously.

“Gaius—really,” he sighs, eyes fading to glow-yellow. “I just mopped.”

The duke's physician appears stubborn.

“I want to know what you're planning, Merlin.”

“That's between me and the Duke of Cornwall.” Merlin's lips twist up mindfully. “Who is,” he says, slowly, “incidentally _dead_.”

“Am I to believe you had no hand in that?”

Merlin reluctantly gestures. “Arthur can't take on the responsibility, so, no. It isn't just _me_ watching him, y'know.”

After a long pause, Gaius scrapes the edge of the trap.

“Practicing the dark arts…” Merlin points out, aiming a disapproving stare at the old man. “That's a bit close to the occult, don't you think?”

*

The more ale Arthur swallows down, the keener he is to prattle on. 

Mostly about the subject of Merlin, to Merlin.

This time seems different.

Merlin carefully deposits him onto the bed, yanking off Arthur's boots.

“When we were children—Guinevere and Leon and I—we told stories at night, while our parents were on business. Guinevere was terrified of the stories about the Yellow-Eyed People.” From his pillows, Arthur stares hazily at Merlin's confused expression. “Right… I had nearly forgotten you're an idiot.”

“ _How flattering_ ,” Merlin says under his breath, dropping the last boot on the rug.

“The Yellow-Eyed People would come and snatch you up if you were naughty…and never seen again. The only way to protect yourself was being virtuous and well-behaved. You put a… a ring of salt at the foot of your bed.”

Merlin bites on his lower lip, resisting laughter.

“That sounds like complete rubbish,” he says, fluffing Arthur's sheets.

“No one actually believes the stories, except the librarian Geoffrey,” Arthur drawls, giving a complaining nose as Merlin wrestles the alcohol bottle from his fingers. “He's superstitious or some rot. I always see him fiddling with his cross.”

Merlin has noticed that as well. One reason he never particularly liked him.

“Our nanny would shoo us to bed. Never liked her.”

“You weren't exactly a peach,” Merlin says, a bit too aggravated.

Arthur's eyebrows furrow.

“What was that?” he asks, slurring.

Merlin tells him, flatly, “ _I said_ , clotpole… these need a bleach.” He holds up Arthur's shirt flecked with ale and morsels of food, only to witness it flung out of his hands as Arthur pulls him down on top of him. He plunges his tongue messily inside Merlin's mouth and grinds their hips.

*

Everything is tasteless ashes in his mouth.

Everything but Arthur.

He's _sweet_ , delectable and ripe, filling Merlin's immortal belly and straining his cock. It's human essence and want; it's the nudge of _fullness_ , pressure that enters him gradually. The slow, insistent thrusts nearly unhinging his control, building his demonic appetite. 

Merlin's heels dug into the mattress, as Arthur's thrusts go deeper, quicker.

The feeding … the sensation of Arthur's orgasm flooding … was _vibrations_ —unlimited, dizzying vibrations on his outsides and his insides, under the skin of Merlin's eyelids, and that borned to the very tips of his fingernails.

But once a deal has struck, it cannot be broken.

Merlin pushes back Arthur's sweat-damp, golden hair, his eyes mirroring the color. He grins with all his teeth, feeling them lengthen.

* * *

**#8**

**Pairing(s):** Guinevere/Isolde, Gwaine/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None

Merlin dropped his bag on the floor, slipped off his shoes, and tiptoed over to the table where his boyfriend was immersed in his laptop and headphones—obviously in the middle of work. 

Merlin's hands were poised to ruffle Gwaine's perfect locks when he startled Merlin by speaking.

“I know you're there, Merlin.”

“How did you know?”

“I edit porn videos for a living. It doesn't exactly require my undivided attention.”

Gwaine reached up and tugged at Merlin's tie, pulling him down for an upside-down kiss. 

“And here I thought I was being stealthy,” Merlin murmured against Gwaine's lips.

Gwaine scooted the chair back, giving Merlin enough room to sit on his lap.

“What have you got today?” Merlin asked.

“Girl on girl. Lucky me,” Gwaine said flatly.

Merlin laughed, picking up the storyboard from the table and reading it out loud. “'Isolde and Guinevere, ladies of legend, accidentally drink a love potion that leaves them consumed by lust.' Do people really go for this?” 

“If it were Tristan and Lancelot, I could probably be persuaded to sit through the first four minutes of them making out against trees as they move towards the conveniently placed inn.”

“You're not kidding, are you?” Merlin asked.

“The inn is literally called 'Ye Olde Inn'.” 

“Is the sex any good at least?”

“Well, Isolde and Guinevere seem to be enjoying it, but since that's what they're paid to do I can't really be sure. You're the one who's had sex with women. You tell me.”

“Wo-man,” Merlin corrected. “And it happened exactly once. It was my first time, and I'm not sure who cried more afterwards, her or me. I thought you told me you'd been in a cunt.”

“No, my prick's been _near_ a cunt. I went out a few times with a pre-op bloke. The sex was first rate, but god, he was a bore. You woulda liked him; he sold medical supplies.”

Merlin punched Gwaine playfully in the arm. “I probably _have_ met him and kicked him out of the chemist's.”

Merlin looked at the computer screen for the first time. 

“Wow. They're flexible. Which one's which?”

“The one sitting there with her legs spread--”

“They're both sitting there with their legs spread.”

“The one on bottom, then, with her back against the headboard, that's Guinevere. The one with her dress all pushed up to her armpits straddling her is Isolde.”

“And the love potion is making them do what exactly?” Merlin tilted his head.

Gwaine unplugged his headphones and turned up the speakers. Then he hit play. 

The two men watched silently for a minute. 

Isolde rolled her hips against Guinevere slowly. Guinevere sighed loudly at the contact. She slid her hands up Isolde's body, underneath the cheap-looking costume, and then up to cup Isolde's breasts as Isolde finished pulling the dress up and off, tossing it aside.

With the clothing gone, it was easier to see the way Isolde was rocking to rub her cunt against Guinevere's. She circled her hips a little, making both women groan. Then Isolde started thrusting forward and back in quick pulsing movements, picking up speed as Guinevere's moans got less high-pitched and more earnest. 

“Whoa. Look at her go,” Merlin whispered.

He squirmed a little in Gwaine's lap.

“Is this doing it for you?” Gwaine asked.

“Fucking is fucking, and you have to admit, this is hot.”

Isolde's ass was bouncing frantically as she fucked herself against Guinevere, whose hands were digging into Isolde's hips, urging her on as their clits rubbed against each other. The headboard was pounding against the wall so hard Merlin thought the bed might break. 

Gwaine pressed up against Merlin's arse, letting Merlin feel that he was hard. 

Merlin turned around and slammed his lips against Gwaine's while he maneuvered his trousers open. It took a bit of fumbling, but they got themselves positioned so Merlin was straddling Gwaine, with Gwaine stroking both their cocks in his hand. 

As Isolde got closer, thrusting faster against Guinevere, Merlin jerked his hips forward, giving his prick more friction against Gwaine's. It was to the exaggerated cries of on-screen pleasure that Merlin and Gwaine came, both spilling into Gwaine's hand. 

Merlin buried his head in Gwaine's shoulder, panting. “Did we just get off to lesbian porn?”

Gwaine chuckled. “I won't tell if you won't.”

* * *

**#9**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** none

Boring. Dull. Mind-numbingly dreary. Unbelievably tedious.

Arthur stares at the ceiling, breathing hard after finishing his workout. Just like every other day since his birthday three years ago. 

ooo

He’s about to open a can of soda when it happens again, the beeping of an alarm alerting him there’s another candidate. It’s been a while since the last one. 

He’ll wait till the guy gets through the garden before looking. No reason to get his hopes up too soon.

ooo

The guy actually gets into the house and doesn’t seem to be sporting any injuries or bruises like others did after fighting their way through garden. His clothes aren’t even dirty. Arthur’ll have to watch that tape later. 

“Hi, I’m Merlin,” the guy says straight to the camera, grinning like a loon. “And I’m here to snatch your innocence.”

“A bit cocky, don’t you think?” Arthur replies a mic. 

“Watch me,” Merlin’s grin even widens and he strides off towards another door.

ooo

Tranquilizer darts, conjured animals, animated golems, sleeping curse, mechanical dragon. Nothing seems to stop Merlin’s steady walk through rooms. It’s almost as if his magic works without his conscious thoughts. 

Nobody got this far. 

Arthur’s heart skips a beat and then goes into overdrive when Merlin looks up into camera, his eyes shining bright gold. 

ooo

Despite the prophecy being about him, he learned its contents just like the rest of the nation, when it leaked into press.

“Unknown sorcerer to steal our prince’s V card.” That day’s headline of the most popular tabloid. 

A week later, Uther hugged him long and close before leaving the suite that would be all Arthur would see for who knows how many years. 

Almost thirty of the strongest and most experienced sorcerers combined their power to create three layers of shield around his rooms. And then they set up the traps.

All because there was too many magic users who would try to force themselves on Arthur, fifteen years old at the time, and use him as a way to power.

ooo

“He will arrive uninvited and unexpected, a creature of magic, ambassador of the Avalon itself.  
He will snatch the prince’s innocence and together they will bring the new golden age of Albion.”

ooo 

“Fuck,” Arthur swears as all three shields crumble under the barely there touch of Merlin’s hand. “Shit,” he breathes out, stumbling back from the computer screen. After all this time, it’s really happening. 

The door open, revealing a lean frame of his soon to be lover. 

ooo

Merlin’s hands are surprisingly gentle on his face, tracing the line of his jaw with his fingertips.

“I’m going to kiss you now,’ Merlin states and closes the gap between them. He hugs him close when Arthur can’t contain the tremors of shock at so much skin on skin contact after all those lonely years.

ooo

Merlin takes his time, teasing Arthur’s body until he’s teetering on the brink of ecstasy only to let him slump back to the mattress a second later without providing the final push. Arthur bites his lip to stop himself from begging. 

“Don’t,” Merlin whispers, caressing the abused lip before joining their lips once more.

ooo

It doesn’t hurt when Merlin enters him, magic easing the way and soothing the aches before they can even start. 

He feels safe, cared for.

ooo

Something changes when he comes. Breathing through the aftershocks, he’s afraid to open his eyes.

“Arthur,” Merlin moans, stilling his movements and filling Arthur with his seed. 

“Look at our world, my prince,” Merlin whispers, his touches warm and gentle. 

Slowly, Arthur opens his eyes. The room is the same as before, but still seems a bit different. As if there’s something new in what he’s seeing, even if he can’t place what it is.

Merlin links their fingers together, his eyes flashing gold.

“What’s mine is yours,” he says and finally Arthur understands, watching the glow of Merlin’s magic twining around their joined hands.

* * *

**#10**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana, Gwen/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** nonmonogamy

Trading day comes once every hundred rotations on Io-7G-19, frequent enough that Gwen has a routine by now, rare enough that she feels little compunction about taking Leon and Sefa away from their regular duties. No, it's not _necessary_ for her to go, with essential supplies delivered directly to the palace and a smaller food market every ten rotations. But occasionally she finds some gadget that sparks her curiosity, some fresh fruit that will make Arthur's mouth water. Even a glimpse a model of craft she hasn't seen before, or a whiff of engine oil on the dry air, would make it worth the trip.

He can't begrudge her this, not with so little else to stand out from the flatness of life on the colony.

But of course she can't go alone.

Gwen's heartbeat kicks up and Sefa reaches for her arm when the scuffle breaks out over by the ground transport. Leon runs toward it at once, and before Gwen has time to turn there's an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her into the dark space between two market stands. And Gwen stumbles, and smiles, and lets go of Sefa's hand.

Within minutes she's blindfolded, wrists bound, strapped into a passenger seat, and there's nothing to do but plant her feet on the floor and glory in it, the roar of the engine, the vibrations coursing up through her legs and her seat, the crushing thrill of pressure as they shoot off into space. It has been far, far too long.

She feels Morgana's hands releasing her as the engine noise subsides into a steady thrum, and she opens her mouth for a deep, wet kiss before she opens her eyes, drifting up out of her bonds and into Morgana's arms.

"I needed you to look at my impact shields," Morgana murmurs, nuzzling at Gwen's neck, pushing her top aside to expose a shoulder. "Never met a mechanic who could take care of me the way you did."

"So instead of sending a notice to the Governor's palace –"

"Which would never, _ever_ be acknowledged –"

"Instead of sending a notice to my personal account, you snatch me away from the marketplace, most likely get two good staff members fired, make Arthur think I'm in grave danger and waste the colony's resources sending out a rescue party." She cradles her head in Morgana's bosom. "Completely irresponsible."

"And you loved every second of it," Morgana says, petting her hair. "Just like you'll love it when he comes back in battle mode to reclaim you."

It's easy enough to imagine how it will go. Arthur's voice calm and resolute when he informs them of his firepower, Morgana full of bravura but secretly resigned. Back at the palace he'll be passionate again, trembling with relief and want as he walks her backwards toward the bed, and she'll climb up and open to him, guide his hard cock into her vagina. She can almost already feel his thickness inside her, the bucking friction, the weight of him on top of her – grounding her, loving her, swearing to keep her safe.

She starts pulling off Morgana's clothes.

They go quicker than Gwen's – it's easy to dress simply in space, she remembers. Soon there's nothing holding them down or covering them up, only hands on bodies as they spin slowly in the center of the pod, and Gwen uses Morgana's hips to turn herself around. She keeps her legs closed at first, so nothing can distract her from the deep, heady tang of Morgana's slick pussy on her tongue. Gwen licks, and licks, she can't get enough, Morgana red cunt and Morgana's soft moans, Morgana's thighs in Gwen's hands and Morgana's fingers at the join of Gwen's legs. She starts to let herself go, to let Morgana in, and she squeals and then whimpers when Morgana stretches her labia with two thumbs, spreads her legs with her elbows, and plunges in with her dirty, sharp tongue.

Morgana fucks her mouth and fucks her cunt and Gwen fucks back, presses hard with the flat of her tongue until Morgana _screams_ and Gwen's not sure where her throbbing body ends and her best girl begins. She is weightless, wordless, spineless, shameless. Wrapped up in and around her first true love.

Let Arthur come for her, and she'll go back, and love him with all her heart until the next time Morgana swoops in and pulls her back. But first, "Take me again," she whispers. "We have time."

* * *

**#11**

**Pairing(s): Morgana/Gwen**  
 **Warning(s): none**

Morgana adjusts her hair, tucking it tightly under her wool cap. She tugs on her “utility belt” as she likes to call it, making sure everything is securely in place for the fifth time. She sighs and checks her watch: three minutes. 

…

Gwen spins around in her chair to face the second set up, fingers attacking the keyboard at an alarming rate, typing in lines of code the way someone would sing a familiar song. She has only minutes to get this right, and she only has one shot. 

…

Elena snaps her gum as she connects the final wires together. She doesn’t know why everyone is always so nervous about her role in things. It’s easy: pack some explosives, set them up, do and awesome hair flip as you ignite the charges and hightail it back to the getaway car. Easy peasy lemon squeezey. 

…

The command comes over Morgana’s tiny in-ear receiver. “Now!” She swings herself up and over the guardrails, listening raptly as Gwen confirms each security checkpoint is now off line. 

“You’ve only got 20 seconds!” Gwen says urgently into her earpiece. 

“Damn,” Morgana curses and raises her boot to kick open the case. It’s messy, but it’ll have to do. 

…

Morgause barley looks up when she gets the signal from Gwen. She sits calmly in the driver seat and rolls her eyes as Morgana slides across the hood of her perfect 1970 Dodge Challenger. 

“You’ll scratch it,” she says as Morgana swings into the passenger seat. 

“Whatever, I’m wearing all spandex. Get over it and drive,” Morgana snips, waving the small pouch at the driver.

The back door opens, and Elena pours herself into the car, tapping out an adrenaline-fueled rhythm on the back on the passenger seat, “Let’s go, let’s go.”

Morgause cracks her knuckles before calmly starting the car. She looks over her shoulder at her two companions and grins wickedly.

“Hold on, bitches,” she drawls and guns the car, pulling away from the curb with a squeal of rubber on asphalt. 

…

Elena and Morgause create a drinking game that involves taking shots whenever the media refers to their robberies.

Morgause wants to operate in shadow and hates all mention of their jobs. Elena secretly likes when they are referred to by any name that involves a pun. 

…

Morgana claps the necklace around Gwen’s neck and steps back to take in the whole picture. Gwen stands before her, naked except for the million-dollar jewel laden necklace resting between her collarbones and draping down between her breasts. 

“You look stunning like this,” Morgana whispers, walking back towards Gwen, kissing her lightly on the shoulder as she circles her. 

“I do feel like a queen,” Gwen admits, running her fingers lightly over the jewels. 

“A queen,” Morgana agrees. “And what can I do to service my Queen.”

Gwen bites her lower lip and looks up at Morgana through her lashes. “Well, I have my diamonds, now I just need my girl.”

“Is that all?” Morgana asks, leaning down and nipping Gwen’s lips with her teeth. “You could have anything you want.”

“I know,” she says and lowers her self onto the bed. She leans back against the headboard and waves a lazy hand at Morgana, “Now strip for me.”

Morgana grins and pulls her tank top over her head, as she stalks towards Gwen on the bed. 

Gwen giggles as Morgana starts crawling up the bed towards her. “All of it.”

Morgana unclasps her bra and lets her breasts fall out, then leans forward to slide up Gwen’s body until their chests are pressed together. She then pushed herself on to her knees and pulls down her panties, pressing her naked body to Gwen’s from chest to leg. 

Gwen arches her back, raising her breasts and the necklace into the air and Morgana slides her fingers down, down, further down her body and slowly starts to rub her clit. Gwen gasps as Morgana leans down and takes her hard nipple into her mouth, biting gently before moving and mouthing at the diamonds in the necklace. 

“I’d steal all the riches in the world for you,” Morgana says, sliding her fingers into Gwen. 

“You already have me,” Gwen gasps.

“I know.”

* * *

**#12**

**Pairing(s):** Intersex, female-identifying!Merlin/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** No A03 warnings apply; canon-era AU with mentions of discrimination against intersex people.

Merlin travels in trousers, enjoys the freedom of scouting each new town as a gangly, forgettable boy. She knows how dangerous Camelot is for her sort, has been warned off going there, but the Great Dragon did say that it was where she'd find her destiny.

* * * 

It's her neck that first catches Morgana's notice, long and pale as a courtier's. It's topped by a glossy cap of dark hair, cropped short, the ends curling in the steam rising from the bath she's busy filling. She wears no cap or headcloth, does not stoop to disguise her height.

If she's meant to be grieving a husband, Morgana thinks slyly, it's not one she cared for overmuch. 

She shifts away from the window, pulls the tip of her dagger from where she'd been worrying at a bit of loose mortar.

"You're new."

"Yes, my lady."

"And your name is…?"

"Hardly of consequence." 

It's all said in a deferential murmur, but there is nonetheless something in the girl's tone, in the fact that she keeps her face turned away, that piques Morgana's interest.

She drops an empty bucket and squats to lift its full companion like a common labourer, and it is this, the contrast between her rough manners and elegant neck, that are suddenly, shockingly, familiar. 

That day, on the training ground, the boy who'd dared challenge Arthur in front of his men, who'd later saved him from a dagger through the heart, only to disappear before he could be rewarded…

It's _that_ brazenness, that same neck – no longer saddled with a ridiculous scarf – and how could Morgana have missed those _ears_?

Morgana's behind her in three swift paces, dagger pressed to that pale throat. The half-emptied bucket falls into the bath with a terrific splash, soaking the girl's skirts and sending water surging over the side.

"Who _are_ you?" Morgana hates the way her voice betrays her, the note of wonder in it. The feel of the girl's skin under her fingertips makes her blood sing. She recalls the words from her dreams, knows, with a shiver of certainty, that she's grasping the truth of them.

_"… one in which you see a strength, a beauty like no other. There you will find your match, Morgana Pendragon."_

* * * 

It's the "who," rather than the dreaded "what," that decides Merlin, that and the lush breasts pressing into her back, the warm, sweet breath at her ear, the scent of magic. She's tired of being alone, untouched, dismissed as "devilspawn… half-man… a queer piece of snatch."

And the dragon did say…

"Merlin," she whispers, mouth dry. Between her thighs, it's another story; she's as hard, as wet as she ever gets.

"It _is_ you." The tip of the dagger drags across Merlin's skin, recedes over her shoulder. She hears it clatter on the floor. "I knew it. But then why – "

"I am not like other women," Merlin cuts in, turning.

"So I'd noticed." 

Merlin's suddenly hyper-aware of her meagre chest and large hands, the eager nub between her legs. Normally it wouldn't show, but her shift's plastered to her and she can feel it, the little beast, rubbing against the wet fabric.

The Lady Morgana's expression softens. She takes Merlin's hand, studying it intently as she draws it up to her mouth. Then she turns it, smiling, and presses a kiss to Merlin's palm. 

"It's not many women who'd champion Morris," she says, smirking, "nor challenge Arthur in public. Tell me, Merlin, would you – "

"Nor am I a boy," Merlin blurts, staring at her hand ensconced in Morgana's, at the crimson mark left there by her beautiful lips and _oh_ she lied before because she feels, harder, wetter now. "If that's what you're wanting."

"What I _want_ , pretty one, is to kiss you," Morgana says, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

"And if I want…more?" 

"Meaning?"

Merlin draws a shaky breath, licks her lips. "Your tongue… would be the perfect size for my cunt, my lady. It's quite small. You could easily fill me up."

"And what of this naughty thing?" Morgana holds Merlin's gaze as her free hand slips between them, brushes against her nub.

"You must tame it as suits you, my lady – wear it out, or teach it to wait until you, too, have taken your pleasure."

The other eyebrow goes up. Then, to Merlin's delight, Morgana's shoving her back towards the bed, yanking down Merlin's bodice, muttering something in the old language as she kisses – claims – Merlin's tits, her shoulders, her neck.

* * *

**#13**

**Pairings:** Vivian/Mithian, Vivian/Sentient Being  
 **Warning:** Underage

She's seven when she first notices the shadow in the corner of her room. 

It's shaped like a person and it moves when nothing else does. Vivian knows she should scream, like the kids do in movies, but she isn't afraid. She just watches warily as the shadow creeps closer along the walls, toward the head of her bed. At the last second, she scrunches her eyes closed and waits to see if it will eat her.

A moment later, thin fingers run over her hair. 

The shadow pets her until she falls asleep.

\-------

Vivian is fourteen when she first finds a problem with Shadow.

She's home from boarding school for the summer, and the house is too warm and there's a hot ache between her legs that won't go away. She knows how to fix it, but Shadow is there, like always, gently petting the blonde curls of her hair. No matter which room she flees to, she knows shadow will follow, never giving any privacy. It was cute when she was younger, but now...

Vivian writhes for hours before she's had enough. 

She mumbles, “I'm sorry – I just – I have to - “

She slips one hand in her panties, and she's already so wet and worked up that she moans at the first gentle touch. She dips one finger in herself, then two. 

Shadow stills at the wet sounds now coming from underneath the covers, and the hand petting Vivian's hair slowly moves down, briefly fondling the small swell of her breast, roaming over her tummy -

She gasps when Shadow's fingers press in against her own, and her thighs fall open readily.

When she comes, she feels the press of a kiss against her cheek.

\-------

She's sixteen when it's not enough anymore.

Shadow can leave gentle kisses and hold her and talk with wild charades, but Vivian wants someone she can hold back, kiss back, _feel_. She's not alright receiving all the attention anymore. 

For the first time in her life, Vivian wants to _give_.

“Do you have a body?” She asks one night. She's asked it a million times, and she knows what the answer will be.

Shadow waggles one petite finger and shakes its head.

Vivian feels tears sting the edges of her eyes.

“I want to kiss you,” she whispers.

She feels a soft press on her lips, and she laughs – a wet, mean sound. “Not like _that_.”

Shadow tilts its head, curious.

Vivian reaches up to the headboard, where Shadow rests every night. Her fingers gently trace the spot where Shadow's cheek should be, but all she feels is slick, polished wood against her skin. 

“ _I_ want to kiss _you_.”

Shadow's form slouches, and it gently brushes a lock of hair from her temple.

It can't speak, but Vivian hears the _I'm sorry_ , anyway.

\-------

She wakes later that night to kisses being placed on her thighs. At first she thinks it's Shadow trying to apologize for earlier, but then Vivian realizes that the kisses are warm and tickling and real.

Her eyes snap open.

Between her thighs is a girl wearing a short green dress made of leaves. Her wild brown curls are held up in a ponytail with twine, giving Vivian a view of two sharply pointed ears. The girl looks to be Vivian's age with soft skin and petite body, but her dark, mischievous eyes suggest otherwise.

The girl stares up at Vivian with a devilish grin.

“You've taken good care of my shadow,” she says.

“Yours?” Vivian asks. Her breaths are shallow, heart racing, but she isn't afraid.

“Mhmm. My name is Mithian.” She places a firm, hot kiss over Vivian's warm panties, then crawls up so their bodies are aligned. Her frame is just like Shadow's, but she is firm and warm and real. Vivian squeezes her thighs over Mithian's hips, and she's met with a slow, sweet thrust.

“Come away with me,” Mithian whispers in her ear.

Vivian nods before she can think. She presses her lips to Mithian's neck, cheek, lips. She can't get over the pressure, the warmth. She feels like she might get lost in it.

Mithian grins against Vivian's lips, predatory and wide.

“Think happy thoughts,” Mithian says. 

When Vivian comes, she feels like she's flying.

* * *

**#14**

**Pairing(s):** Morgana/Gwen  
 **Warning(s):** Thievery!

The battery was only charged to 50% when it tripped the security cap.

She should have been able to reroute the power for thirty of these before they noticed so much as a dip in the power levels. This was the Secretary of Agriculture, for God’s sake, a joke of a job, since no one ate field-grown foods anymore. The Secretary was an old, outdated man with an old, outdated title— and he was supposed to have had an old, outdated security system. Out of all the people who could afford electricity, he should have been the easiest to steal it from.

Unfortunately for Morgana, he apparently wasn’t.

She disconnected the positive and negative clamps from the steel power box and stuffed them into her shoulder bag along with the battery. There was no time to screw the metal plating back over the wires. They already knew she was there, and in her experience, the government didn’t really like power leechers.

Morgana jerked her hood over her head and leapt off the roof onto the balcony below, and then climbed down the wall onto the air pad. No sooner had her foot hit the asphalt than the alarms started blaring. She went up to the first shuttle she saw—an old junker with nothing but a keypad to lock it up—and shoved her codebreaker pod against the lock. It popped open, and—

“Who are _you?_ ” asked a startled voice from the front seat.

Shit. She hadn’t expected there to be anyone in the fucking shuttle.

“Start the engine. Now,” Morgana demanded, reaching behind her to pull out her phaser and point it at the dark-skinned girl behind the wheel. “I have this set to full power; it could kill you.”

That was a lie, of course, and Morgana suspected that her new hostage knew that, but the girl didn’t hesitate. She turned the key and immediately piloted the vehicle into the air before shooting off into the night.

“Did you set off that alarm?” the girl asked, turning to look at her with striking brown eyes as Morgana moved up to take the passenger seat. “Are they after us?” As if in answer, the sound of sirens started up behind them. “Shit.”

“Turn into that port,” Morgana said, pointing. The girl obeyed expertly.

A police siren shrieked past, and then gradually became quieter as the shuttle zoomed away.

“What were you doing in the middle of the night at a government air pad? You’re not in the government, are you?” Morgana asked eventually.

The girl laughed. “No, no, definitely not.”

“So what are you, then?”

The girl was about to answer, but just then, the sound of police sirens picked up again. “Turn the engine back on and—”

But the girl was already pulling out of the port.

They bolted out of the entrance, narrowly missing a collision with a police vehicle. The girl drove the shuttle upward sharply until it was almost parallel with the building, shooting higher and higher. The police vehicle quickly began t follow, but the girl jerked the wheel sharply and switched into a dive. They were barreling straight towards the street until she turned at the last moment, only eight feet above the ground, and careened around a corner onto a narrow pedestrian side street.

“Where the hell did you learn to fly like that?” Morgana asked, breathless.

“Med school.”

“ _Med school?_ ”

“I used to be a paramedic,” the girl said, navigating into an empty garage at the end of the street. When she’d parked, she turned to look at Morgana, her eyes sparkling. “Now I just….” She gestured to the back of the shuttle where there was a stack of clear boxes filled with small, orange pharmacy bottles.

“You steal drugs?”

“No, _medicine_.”

Morgana stared at the girl, considering. “Are you working for anyone?”

“No,” the girl replied, grinning. “I’m self-employed.”

“I could use a getaway driver.”

“Is that a job offer?”

“Only if you want it to be.”

The girl looked away, her dark hair falling forward to hide her face. She brushed it away and met Morgana’s eyes. “I’ll think about it.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Probably.”

“I’m Morgana,” she said, extending her hand. The girl accepted it.

“Hi Morgana,” she replied. “I’m Gwen.”

—

A week later, with her face buried in between her new getaway driver’s legs, Gwen tangled her fingers into Morgana’s hair and said in a low voice, “We could take more than drugs and power.”

“What do you want to take?”

Gwen just grinned. “Everything.”

* * *

**#15**

**Pairing(s):** Morgana/Gwen  
 **Warning(s):** Abuse of authority, dubcon, medical kink.

Gwen had been sceptical taking sexual health advice from Elena, especially after the legendary tale about why she really kept that vegetable garden of her. Honestly, she didn’t even need a new gynaecologist but Elena had fixed her with a look and said, “You should try Le Fay’s.”

Gwen would have forgotten all about it but for the squeak that came from Vivian and the blush that came to Mithian’s cheek. They wouldn’t let her leave until she had booked an appointment and well, here she was perched rather nervously on a square leather stool.

“Miss Smith?” the receptionist called. “She’s ready for you now.”

Gwen nodded her thanks and collected her things, trying to calm herself down. She’d never cared so much about gynaecologists prodding and poking her before. She could even talk about the weather with all manner of things stuck up her but they’d all been men, for a good reason. What would she do if her new gynaecologist was hot? How could act _normal_ with a gorgeous woman staring at her vagina? She winced and prayed that she was ugly. And seventy. And... and...

“Come in, sweetie.”

And oh God, she was stunning. Gwen did her best to smile without tripping over as she stepped through the door.

“Hi, I’m Morgana. No need for all that doctor nonsense, I assure you. Take a seat?”

Gwen sat in another black leather chair, wondering if the doctor – Morgana – had a liking for it. She felt herself blush at the thought and what she’d planned to say abandoned her.

“No need to be nervous, I’ve seen it all before. What’s the problem?”

Gwen bit her lip. She didn’t really have a problem, she’d only had her yearly check up last week. She tried to think of something common and harmless that wouldn’t put Morgana off her. If she was even on her. Oh God. “Just some lower back pain really.”

“Ah, that’s simple enough. Pop behind the screen and put on our latest Dolce & Gabbana gown,” Morgana said, with a wink. While she got undressed, Morgana waited for her.

“And up you get,” she said, patting the - you’ve guessed it - black leather reclining chair, fitted with padded stirrups and arm rests. 

Gwen got up on the chair and leaned back. Perhaps if she stared at the ceiling, she wouldn’t get all tingly. Oh, what if she got wet? That would be awful. Gwen swallowed and pulled her gown down, as if that would help.

“Scoot down for me?” Morgana asked, helping her into the stirrups. Gwen noted her hands were warm and her fingers long and thin. She tried her best not to think about where they were going as she heard the snap of latex.

Gwen closed her eyes as Morgana asked her all the usual question about her last period and her sexual history. She stuttered out all her answers, trying not to feel Morgana’s fingers separating her labia and stroking along them in a way that seemed entirely too intimate. Wishful thinking, Gwen told herself.

“That all seems to be fine,” Morgana said, squirting some lube onto her fingers. “Now for a proper feel.”

Gwen breathed in sharply as Morgana inserted two fingers inside her, laying her other hand on Gwen’s stomach. She knew deep down that this was a completely normal, clinical exam but the part of her brain that wouldn’t shut up reminded her that this was the most action she’d had all month. She lifted her hips as Morgana pressed down, trying not to gasp. As Morgana’s thumb brushed over her clit, she considered that maybe it wasn’t _completely_ clinical after all and as she repeatedly pressed against her g-spot, she found she didn’t care for clinical or for normal, so long as she didn’t stop. Gwen tried her best to hide every sign she was close. She held her legs so tense they couldn’t even shake and her hands were balled into the paper of her gown but she couldn’t stop herself from calling out Morgana’s name, giving credit to the woman that had gotten her off, whether she meant to or not. Though by the pleased look on her face, Gwen could put money on Morgana’s not-so-Hippocratic intentions.

“Everything seems _perfect_ to me,” Morgana said, stroking Gwen’s lips again before pulling her glove off. “Did you have any questions?”

“Yes,” Gwen said before she could stop herself. “Can I book a follow up appointment for next week?”

* * *

**#16**

**Pairing(s):** Morgana/Elena  
 **Warning(s):** None

The Pendragon manor is beautiful, and kept in impeccable form. Elena can’t help brushing her fingers against the elegant furniture as she navigates the room. The light chatter over the sound of strings is soothing, provided she doesn’t listen to any of the words. 

“Elena, I’m so glad you could make it,” she hears from behind her, and she turns to greet her hostess. 

“Lady Morgana,” she replies, smiling, careful to trip over the carpet and fumble her drink into her left hand before she touches Morgana on the shoulder and kisses her cheek. 

Morgana smirks and Elena can feel herself blush. Elena has lived in high society her whole life, and Morgana Pendragon is the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen.

Morgana makes easy small talk, but Elena doesn’t think she’s imagining the way Morgana’s eyes trace the low neckline of her dress, and she knows she’s blushing every time Morgana touches her arm. 

It’s easy to slip away once Morgana drifts off to be “a good host,” as she murmurs into Elena’s ear, her hand resting too-low on Elena’s back. 

She moves softly, drifting out onto the courtyard and then into the gardens. Ten minutes later she’s scaling the balcony outside Morgana’s room.

The safe is trickier to find, hidden in a seamless panel beneath Morgana’s dressing table. Getting in, however, is the work of minutes. Elena’s perfected her technique, and unless a safe is some truly ingenious technology, it rarely takes her more than ten minutes with her purse full of electronics to crack it.

She’s got the necklace in her hands, about to slip it into her bag when - 

“You’re faster than I imagined,” Morgana says; Elena turns to see her standing in the doorway. 

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” she says, and Morgana laughs. Elena sighs and puts the necklace back in the safe, closing it. 

“Maybe next time,” she says. Morgana gives her an appraising, interested look. 

“Maybe,” she says, and the next moment Elena is out the window and over the balcony. 

***

Next time _is_ effortless - Morgana has returned to London and Elena knows exactly what to do this time. 

She doesn’t look at the jewellery until she’s back in her flat. She fingers the delicately-wrought sapphires and diamonds, thinking. She doesn’t care for jewels, particularly, but they’re always satisfying to take, and, more importantly, they’re easy to sell. 

This, though, is truly beautiful, and the image of it hanging around Morgana’s pale throat makes Elena’s breath catch. 

She remembers Morgana’s smile, her hands, the interest in her eyes when she’d found Elena in her bedroom. 

Elena slips the necklace on, grabs her coat, and calls a cab.

***

Morgana looks surprised, and the satisfaction Elena feels is almost visceral, flushing her skin and speeding up her pulse. Morgana stares for a long moment, taking in Elena on her bed, wearing nothing but the necklace, and then a smile starts on her face.

“I knew you were good,” she says, kicking off her heels. The next minute she’s straddling Elena on the bed, her skirt riding up her thighs. “I like confidence.”

Her mouth is hot and practiced, and she slides her hand down to pinch one of Elena’s nipples between her fingers. Elena moans, reaching up to fumble Morgana’s blouse open. She only gets halfway done before Morgana sits back and takes it off herself; Elena’s eyes follow the smooth lines of her body as she lifts it over her head and takes off her bra. 

Elena groans and grinds up against her. 

Morgana doesn’t make her wait, moving down the bed and licking into her cunt, spreading the wetness there up to her clit. Elena gasps, her hands going straight to Morgana’s hair, and Morgana sets a relentless pace, sliding two fingers into Elena and working them in perfect counterpoint to her tongue. 

It doesn’t take long for Elena to come, and Morgana’s chin is soaked when she crawls over Elena, her skirt now up against her waist and her fingers pressed hard against her cunt through her panties. 

“I want - ” she starts, but Elena’s there before she finishes, a hand on Morgana’s thigh to hold her in place, pulling aside her underwear to get at her cunt. She’s been thinking about this all day, how Morgana would taste and feel.

She’d thought Morgana would be restrained, but she’s not - she’s loud and unfettered, riding Elena’s face without a hint of shame.

Afterwards, Morgana lies next to her and traces the necklace around Elena’s neck. 

“It looks better on you,” she says, and Elena looks at her in surprise. There’s a softness on her face that Elena didn’t expect. Morgana leans forward and kisses her

“You should keep it.”

* * *

**#17**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** allusions to past non-con, violence, death (not in the pairing)

If you ask them how they met, Gwen will say dancing and Morgana will say mutual friends. While neither is out of the realm of reality, the most accurate version is that Gwen stole Morgana's mark at UN Benefit Gala.

***

She catches up with her in her hotel room.

"That was careless you know." 

The woman doesn't flinch as she turns around, her gun levelled evenly at Morgana's chest.

"Maybe I wanted to be found."

"By me?"

"I know all about you." There's a purr to the girl's voice though she holds the pistol steady.

"It seems you have the upper hand then. I know nothing about you." She steps forward until the cold muzzle bites into her breast.

"It's Gwen."

The gun falls to the floor with the sharp clang of metal on marble as the pair of them tumble into the bed.

***

The night Gwen pushes a knife into the sniper's heart is the first night Morgana fucks her with a strap on. Gwen is riding high, both from the kill and on Morgana's thighs as she snaps her hips in a staccato rhythm. She clenches as she comes, breathy moans falling from her lips like pleas and Morgana thinks she can watch Gwen like this forever.

***

They always work together, except when a hit goes out in England. Gwen never pries, just packs a bag and goes. The longer she's gone, the more Morgana panics. She takes assignments at random and kills indiscriminately to take her mind off the overwhelming terror that threatens to consume her. When Gwen returns, she takes Morgana hard and rough against whatever surface is available. She knows without being told it's to reassure Morgana she's unharmed and Morgana is grateful for her understanding.

***

Gwen uses every means at her disposal to get close to her marks. Morgana hasn't used her body like that- can't use it like that. After those kills, Morgana pulls her into the shower. She rubs a cloth over her skin and then licks her insides clean with her tongue. The water pools delicately on Gwen's eyelashes and in the hollow of her throat and makes her look otherworldly.

***

Morgana watches a man as he laves at Gwen's cunt like an animal, all lips and no finesse. Gwen's eyes roll back in her head and she moans wantonly. Morgana wants to kill this man with every fibre of her being. Her magic lashes out with primal rage but the man remains unaffected, her scrying crystal unable to transmit more than sight. She watches as Gwen gasps suddenly and sits up straighter, wrapping her legs around the man's head and riding his face. The man doesn't stop licking as Gwen clenches her thighs and snaps his neck. Morgana takes her first unlaboured breath as Gwen pushes her mark to the floor, her expression pure repulsion.

"I know you're watching," she says suddenly. Her leg is slung carelessly up on the bed, his spit and her juices dripping from her exposed crotch. "The show was as much for you as it was for him. I'll see you in Rome."

Morgana smirks and whips the crystal against the wall. A flash of lightning illuminates the shards as they fall to the floor.

***

Morgana's locator spell hones in on the warehouse. Her eyes blaze a molten gold and she lets her magic shoot out of her like grapeshot. She hasn't been this high on power and rage since England. When she finally makes it to the central room, she forces the men together and hits them with a hot spike of power. They howl worse than the damned but Morgana can't stop now. They fall in pieces to the floor, a misshapen lump of bone and tissue. It should be horrifying, but Morgana only has eyes for the woman tied to the chair.

"Did they hurt you?" she whispers as she unties her.

"No love," Gwen raises her free hand and strokes the side of her face. Morgana curls her hands into the shredded remains of Gwen's dress and shakes as the first tears fall.

"I don't think I can do this anymore," she whispers. She looks into Gwen's eyes. Strong, stalwart Gwen who can leave it all at the front door. "How do you do it?"

"I only kill ones who hurt others," Gwen says gently.

It should sound obvious and an idealised fantasy, but for Morgana it's like the last piece of the puzzle falls into place.

"Teach me?"

Gwen answers by pulling her in for a kiss.

* * *

**#18**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Elena/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** n/a

It was supposed to be a routine job.

 _Supposed_ to be. 

Life, Elena reflected, was probably infinitely boring if it only went as expected. After all, she hadn’t expected the call inviting her to pick a pair of royal pockets. She hadn’t expected getting caught red-handed picking said pockets, and she _definitely_ hadn’t expected having her hand put to… well. _Other_ uses. Not that she was complaining.

“Falling asleep down there?” 

“Hardly,” Elena said, pressing in again until Morgana stopped grinning, sighing and arching into the touch. “In bed with royalty? How could I?”

“And that’s -- that’s the only reason you stayed, I suppose,” Morgana said, twisting her fingers deeper into Gwen’s hair.

“Of course, the only one,” Elena agreed, rolling her eyes.

“You’re noisy tonight,” Gwen told Morgana, leaning back down to kiss her quiet. Elena watched, squirming until she could press her mouth in soft, teasing kisses along Morgana’s inner thigh. The reasons she had for staying of course had nothing to do with this: nothing to do with the way Morgana pushed up into Gwen’s kisses, greedy, heedless of the way her lips were already swollen from Gwen’s attentions. It had nothing to do, obviously, with how Gwen’s hand skated delicately down Morgana’s stomach, playing her fingers over the tremors like a well-loved instrument, or how those same fingers felt next to hers, both of them pushing into Morgana, fucking her in slow, syncopated time. It was unrelated completely to the way Gwen’s knuckles tasted when they were deep in Morgana’s cunt, or the way Elena’s own skin smelled, with Morgana’s slick smeared over her from cheek to chin; the way it felt when she licked it off her teeth.

“Fuck,” Morgana gasped, as Gwen pulled away from the kiss and set her mouth against one of Morgana’s breasts instead, her fingers still working Morgana open as Elena sucked a vicious mark onto Morgana’s hip, just next to the neatly trimmed curls between her legs. “Oh fuck, Gwen, you -- _Elena_ \--”

Elena hid the smugness of her smile against Morgana’s skin, but she couldn’t hide the shudder in her shoulders as Morgana’s orgasm closed in around them, pulling all of them along much too fast as Morgana sighed and shook under their touch. Elena’s fingers slid too easily along Gwen’s when they pulled out carefully: slick when Gwen closed her hand gently around Elena’s wrist; slick when Elena cupped hers around the back of Gwen’s neck, bringing their mouths together.

Elena was full to bursting with the taste and the smell and the feel of Morgana, but Gwen -- Gwen tasted of the cherries they’d eaten, and her body was soft under Elena’s touch, and her teeth were sharp as she bit carefully at Elena’s lip. Elena allowed herself to be drawn up, away from Morgana’s gorgeous cunt until she fit exactly between the two of them, the only place she’d ever found which fit like this. Morgana curled close around her back, fingers low on Elena’s stomach to pull her in until her arse was snug against Morgana’s hips; Gwen’s hands wandered as she deepened the kiss, thumbing one of Elena’s nipples while Elena reached around to fit her own hand around the curve of Gwen’s thigh, sliding her fingers up until she could _just_ feel the damp between Gwen’s legs. The air was heavy-warm around them, cradling them together like a blanket. Morgana was kissing the nape of Elena’s neck -- wet, sucking kisses that set Elena’s nerves buzzing. 

“Come on, love,” Gwen murmured, hitching a knee over Elena’s thigh, opening up to Elena’s touch. “Make me come, just like this. Or should I sit on your face tonight, get you _truly_ wet?”

No, Elena thought, surrounded and happily surrendered; she hadn’t stayed for the sex. She wouldn’t deny, though, that it had damn well helped her make the decision.

* * *

**#19**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Sefa, minor Mordred/Elyan  
 **Warning(s):** Brief threat of drowning

On the day Leodegrance sent a reconciliation by sea - _send me my grandchildren, that I may choose an heir_ \- Gwen discovered she was the daughter of a blacksmith and a princess.

The message came with a ship and squire for Elyan, clothes and a pretty serving girl for Gwen.

"Sefa, Your Highness," the girl whispered, eyes downcast.

 _What am I to do with a servant?_ thought Gwen.

~~~~~

The first night, the sea was calm as glass. Gwen's cabin felt like a rocking cradle, but when she turned to say so, Sefa's eyes were pinched.

"We should row back to port." She looked so spooked that Gwen humored her and went out on deck.

"Port?" The Captain laughed, his shaved head tipped back. "We rowed halfway up the coast to reach you, Your Highness. No, we won't row back to port tonight."

"Captain Valiant says no," she told Sefa. "I'm sorry."

Sefa didn't reply, but late that night, when Gwen woke in the moonlight, the bunk beside hers was empty.

~~~~~

The next afternoon, the storm boiled over the horizon without warning. Sailors rushed to trim sail and brace the masts. Gwen stood on deck, shocked at the frantic activity, as gusts buffeted her new gown - a thicker fabric than she was accustomed to, but like paper in the sudden chill.

"Milady!" Sefa cried, tugging her hand. "Come inside!"

She stumbled through the cabin door to find Elyan and his squire Mordred throwing her grandfather's gifts into trunks lashed to the walls.

"Wait!" Sefa unlaced Gwen's outer layers, stripping them off. "These too."

Gwen's face heated, though she'd worn plain white underdresses as a serving girl.

"Stay here," Elyan told her when they were done, striding out through the door.

Gwen's heart clenched on sudden fear.

~~~~~

The next hour was a nightmare.

The ship rolled violently, the sea roaring around them like a unchained beast. They dared not light a lantern, so The air grew dark and stuffy. Mysterious thumps and yells came from outside.

Elyan screamed.

Gwen was not conscious of opening the door, or of running to the railing to watch Mordred try to hold her stunned brother up in the water. Elyan's eyes rolled white. She barely noticed her hands reaching out, or Sefa's arms around her waist.

Strangely, she remembered Sefa singing.

It was odd, high in her throat and not quite musical, or too much so. Raw sound. Below her, Mordred echoed it, choked now and then by cresting waves.

Then the boat yawed, Gwen rushing toward her brother with the force of sudden gravity. A wave swept her feet from under her as Sefa gave a startled cry.

~~~~~

_Cold._

The world she opened her eyes to was blue-green calm. Her underdress billowed up like a jellyfish. Pressure was burning in her chest, but she could not seem to make her arms and legs move through the icy chill. 

A few feet away, the squire Mordred was kissing her brother. It was a strange kiss, almost like he was pushing something into Elyan. Elyan's fingers, at first lax, eventually spasmed and grasped at Mordred's hair, his bare shoulders, his-

-tail?

Gwen's mouth opened to cry out, bubbles rushing out her mouth, suddenly captured by warm lips against her own. Red hair fanned in the water around her, and a soft tongue touched hers shyly.

_Air! I need-_

Warmth like liquid gold spilled over her lips and down her throat, easing the horrible pressure in her lungs until her whole body felt alight. Her blood pounded in her lips, chest, between her legs, frantic with her sudden rushing heartbeat.

Sefa pulled back, the corner of her mouth flickering between a smile and a frown. Beyond her, Gwen saw other tails flicker, skin and scales of different shades, strange high voices calling welcome.

She dove back in for another kiss. This time Sefa pressed forward, wrapping her arms around Gwen's waist and sliding her tail between Gwen's legs, until Gwen felt firm, sleek muscle pressed up against the hot lips of her cunt.

"Please," she whispered against Sefa's lips, rocking harder and more frantically, Sefa's small breasts pressed against her own, Sefa's hands on her arse, urging her on. "Please-!"

Sefa held her tightly, eyes shining, as Gwen rocked herself with the currents.

~~~~~

In the port town of Gedreth, the old generation still tells the story of the prince and princess claimed by the sea people, swearing you can hear the princess cry out on nights before a storm.

* * *

**#20**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** Brief mention of scat

Gwen waited for Morgana to kick off her Doc Martens and hang her messenger bag on the doorknob.

“You’re so late. Rough day at work?” Gwen asked, giving Morgana a kiss on the cheek.

Morgana removed her headband and tossed her hair. Her raven locks cascaded over her shoulders as if she were a shampoo model.

“Dreadful,” Morgana sighed. “I’m so looking forward to tonight's poetry round table.”

Gwen glanced at her watch. “We’d better get going. Did you want something to eat first?”

“Ugh,” Morgana said, pressing a hand to her stomach. “I don’t think I could eat a thing.”

Gwen waggled her eyebrows. “Not _anything?”_

Gwen stepped closer and slid her hand under Morgana’s mini, shoving her thong aside to finger her clit.

“I ate some sushi from Tesco’s for lunch,” Morgana moaned. “I think it was past expiration.”

Gwen raised her slick fingers to her lips. “I adore raw fish. If you’d rather, we could stay home.”

“That’s tempting, but I’m really looking forward to sharing my unicorn poem. I can eat something later.” Morgana said, slipping into her Birkenstocks.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Gwen said, locking the door behind them.

_…later that night…_

Gwen relaxed on the sofa at Café Come-a-lot. Beside her, Morgana's stomach growled angrier than the most emo poetry slam. Gwen rubbed Morgana’s thigh while they listened.

“And although its horn would never grow back, the unicorn triumphed, its pride intact,” Sophia finished her recitation.

A burst of applause filled the small café.

“Thank you for sharing your poem,” Annis said when the crowd settled. “That was lovely.”

“I don’t know what’s so lovely about a unicorn being de-horned,” Merlin complained.

“Not everything requires a horn, Merlin,” Morgause chided.

Arthur emerged from behind the counter. He wiped his hands on a rag. “Ladies… and _Merlin,”_ he grinned. “Can I make anyone another Red Bull smoothie?”

“I’d love one,” Mithian said. “You take such good care of us girls.”

“I’ll help you,” Merlin said, propelling himself off the sofa. He touched his wrist to his forehead and fainted into Arthur’s arms, pleading, “Rescue me from these horn-haters, my handsome prince.”

“Finish him off quickly,” Vivian snorted. “It wouldn't be p.c. for us to resume our meeting without our token penis.”

“Carry on without me,” Merlin said, reaching for Arthur's apron strings. “Nothing is hidden from my penis. Not for long, anyway.”

“As much as I’d like to see Merlin perform,” Annis said, “let’s get back to business.”

“Yes,” Gwen said, “Tell us what next week's topic will be.”

Annis cleared her throat. “We’ve all enjoyed today’s poetry about unicorns,” she announced. “I’m very excited that our prompt for next week will be— _scat._ ”

“Scat?” Morgana asked, clutching her belly.

“Scat,” Annis said, “you know... shit... faeces... dung… whatever you choose to call it. It's next week’s poetry theme.”

“Sounds like fun,” Freya said. “I can’t wait to get started writing.”

Morgana groaned.

“Are you okay?” Gwen asked.

Morgana whispered in her ear, “You know that feeling when you think you’re going to fart—but poop comes out instead?”

“Oh dear,” Gwen said.

“What are you whispering about?” Annis asked.

“Morgana’s not feeling well, and I don’t blame her. Most people are here to enjoy poetry,” Gwen said, “not poop.”

“Do you have something against shit?” Morgause asked, sitting up straight.

“Well, it’s just not my thing,” Gwen said, stroking Morgana’s hair. “It kind of grosses me out.”

“Are you saying poetry is gross?” Annis asked.

“Well… no… but I like to write poetry about fairies and mythical creatures…. not _poo,”_ Gwen said.

Morgana turned pale.

“Look Gwen, people shit every day—including you,” Morgause said. “Just because you’d rather write about something different doesn’t give you permission to make Allen Ginsberg fans feel bad. If you’re freaking out because you’ve been asked to write a poem about a normal bodily excretion, maybe you shouldn’t be—”

“What is she doing?” Elena shrieked, clasping her hand over her mouth.

Gwen followed Elena’s gaze.

To Gwen’s horror, Morgana’s thong wasn’t wide enough to stem the flow of steaming poop that oozed from her arse, slid down the sofa, and plopped onto the floor.

“I came out to have a good time,” Gwen wailed pitifully. “But I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now.”

She grabbed Morgana’s hand and hurried to the door. When they got outside, Gwen looked to the night sky and screamed, “What the fuck was that about?”

Beside her, Morgana giggled madly and said, “Just hold me- please!”

* * *


	2. Group B (warnings)

**#21**

**Pairing(s):** Freya/Sefa, Arthur/Merlin, Cenred/Vivian  
 **Warning(s):** voyeurism, a creepy guy,

_Hello, How might I improve your existence?_

“I want to have sex.”

I have multiple pre-designed pornosim environments which...

“Ew! _ew!_ ew. _Off_!”

Freya groans and flings herself dramatically on the bed.

-

She has a crush on Merlin for the longest time.

He's smart, he's kind, and he's the one who took her under his wing and introduced her to the rest of the gang.

She's still the quiet one, but she doesn’t feel self-conscious of that any more. She no longer feels like the odd one out. She's finally comfortable, but Merlin still takes the time to talk to her one-to-one occasionally. He still makes sure she's not left alone at parties, still gives her _those smiles_ , and for the longest time Freya was sure there was _something_ there.

Until one morning she rounds a corner in the hallway to find Arthur with his hand down Merlin's pants.

The moans follow her as walks away on unsteady feet, a throbbing in her underwear.

She's not even upset.

-

_Hello, How might I improve your existence?_

“I want a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend, I don't really mind.”

_I can generate a companion of your choosing based on your desired traits._

“But I want someone to actually like me.”

-

Freya has to wonder what sort of woman would put up with a guy as sleazy as Cenred King.

He notices her watching, and weaves through the crowd to where she's sitting with Elena.

“Freya, Elena, this is Vivian,”

Freya sticks out her hand, and watches carefully. For the shortest moment when their hand meet, the busty blonde woman goes fuzzy around the edges, as her files transfer temporarily to Freya's generator.

“Pleased to meet you.”

“My my, how you've both grown. You've flowered, you're ready to become women now.”

His gaze sweeps them with a smirk. Elena stiffens beside Freya, her smile more a grimace.

_Not that desperate thank you_ , thinks Freya, and pulls Elena off to dance.

-

“I don't want to be a virgin any more.”

_I have multiple pre-designed porno-sim environments which cater to various tastes, orientations, kinks and common fantasies. Would you like to browse them?_

“But it won't be real, will it?”

_Just because it is in your head doesn't mean it's not real._

“Who said that?”

_Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, first published in 2007._

“You're done quoting twenty first century literature to me now?”

_Would you like to disable twenty first century literary quotes?_

“Disable all quotes.”

Freya isn't sure how she can hear a computer pout.

-

In the end, it's almost boring.

Sefa joins them in the spring. Merlin looks after her, of course, and Freya catches her eyeing him up once or twice, but Freya has been the shy new kid, and so this time he's not the only one looking out for her.

After to weeks, Freya asks her out, and Sefa blushes and mutters “okay.”

Another few weeks they're lying on Freya's bed, giggling and kissing.

“You wanna try one of the sexy sims with me?” Says Sefa.

“Aren't they created to cater to old guys?”

“Nahh, there are some good ones, I'll show you.”

That was how Freya found herself surrounded by computer-generated couples, stroking Sefa's wet cunt while Sefa licked her breasts, half watching a pair of guys fucking enthusiastically next to them.

-

“Listen, you don't tell my parents about what I ask you, do you? Or anyone else, for that matter.”

_Any transferred data is irretrievable._

“Oh, shit, who knows?”

_No use crying over spilt milk._

“Is that another quote?”

_“No use crying over spilt milk” is an idiom, of unknown origin._

“Are you teasing me?”

_I cannot tease. Would you like me to disable “Humour”?_

But no one knows?

_No data sent._

“You are by far the most bizarre interface I've ever used...”

* * *

**#22**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** None

“What do you think?” Gwen smiled, twirling playfully to show off her gown. Morgana gave her a fond look, reaching out to stroke the soft white silk of the dress.

“It’s very princess-like.” She grinned, laughing at Gwen’s huff as she stomped off the podium.

“You go pick one, ‘Gana. I’m useless at this.” Gwen sighed, sitting on the couch with the dress pooling around her in layers of tulle and ruffles. Morgana just rolled her eyes, gently pulling Gwen closer to press a kiss to her forehead.

“You aren’t useless.” She murmured, fingers running soothingly up and down her chocolate skin. Gwen heaved another sigh and Morgana took it upon her herself to turn this dress appointment into something truly exciting. “Come on.” Morgana said, a small smile pulling at the corner of her lips as she stood, reaching her hands out for Gwen’s own. 

It didn’t take much effort to lead the other woman back into the dressing room, a cheeky grin on her lips as she pressed Gwen back against the wall. “Morgana – “

“Shh…” Morgana hushed her, leaning down to brush light kisses over her lover’s throat, her fingers playing with the delicate beading of the dress’ bust. Moving her lips up to Gwen’s own, Morgana kissed her teasingly as she slipped her hands around the other woman’s waist, working at the lacing at her back.

“ _’Gana_.” Gwen hissed, though made no move to stop her. Morgana raised an eyebrow, tugging the dress down just past her lover’s breasts with one deft movement.

“They’ll hear you.” Was all she said in reply, looking over at the door to their dressing room briefly. She could see the moment Gwen figured out was going to happen – her cheeks blushing such a lovely colour. Morgana smiled approvingly, running her fingers ever so lightly down her lover’s chest. “Gorgeous.” 

Morgana spent the next few minutes teasing at those pretty breasts of Gwen’s – tempting her nipples into hard little nubs. It was with a smirk that she leaned down, taking one into her mouth with a pleased hum, laving it with her tongue before pulling away and blowing cold air over the patch of wet skin. And didn’t that make Gwen shiver. But still, this was hardly the main event.

Somehow Morgana made the act of falling to her knees graceful, smirking up at Gwen as she started lifting up the layers of the dress. “Remember to stay quiet.” She teased before ducking under the silk and tulle, letting it drop down again behind her. Morgana almost giggled at the situation – being in this tent of a dress – but she had a mission. 

It was with gentle but demanding hands that she tempted Gwen to spread her legs further apart, pressing a kiss to her thigh in thanks when she was obeyed. Her prize lay before her, covered in the green lace panties that Morgana had bought her lover just last Christmas. Gwen had said they were more of a present for Morgana than herself, and she hadn’t denied it. The other woman did look stunning in them, after all. One kiss was placed over the fabric, Morgana’s lips twitching as she heard Gwen’s sharp breath above her. 

A finger came next, just lightly touching between her lover’s thighs, drifting over her most sensitive areas. Morgana was merciful, however, and her lover was behaving remarkably well so far. She hooked two fingers into the side of the panties, pulling them down and to one side where she could hold them out of the way. Morgana had had enough of teasing, going for a long lick over her lover’s warm folds. Gwen practically whimpered above her and Morgana felt victorious.

It was easy to spread her lover’s lips with one hand, tongue flicking over her clit expertly. Gwen had never been able to resist a good eating out, and it only took a few fingers and more than a few tricks with her tongue for Morgana to tip her over the edge, her hand fisted in her mouth to stop her crying out. Morgana gave her a few more kittenish licks before fixing Gwen’s panties back in place and crawling out from under the dress with a smug grin.

“And to think you didn’t want me to come along.”

“It’s tradition for the groom not to see the dress before wedding.”

“I’m not a groom.”

“Partner, then. But I’m glad you came, love.”

“I’m not the only one who _came_.”

* * *

**#23**

**Title:** Burlesque Beauty  
 **Pairing:** Morgana/Gwen  
 **Warnings:** None

Morgana puffs an offending feather from her lips, gloss now tacky.

"Goddamn cheap-ass -'"

"You're having a good day," Gwen cut off Morgana’s rant in its prime.

"Shitty fan. Strike _‘Orleans Burlesque_ ’ off suppliers list.”

Gwen kissed her girlfriend's pout, nose wrinkling at the lip-gloss before plucking up the fan, not even looking as she threw it into the trashcan.

"Sexy when you’re sporty," Morgana praised, hooking Gwen in for a longer kiss, tongue pressing into that lush mouth, frowning when she pulled back and shoved a kleenex against her lips, where it stuck.

"You know I hate gloss. It's that on your lips, or me." 

Wiping the offending gunk from her mouth, Morgana leered at Gwen, fingers trailing up her thigh.

"Can think of another way to have you on my lips."

Gwen batted her hand away but not before Morgana ascertained Gwen was panty-less beneath her skirt, languid warmth blooming in her gut at the thought.

"You’ve a performance, you should reapply -

"You?" Morgana interrupted. "My best performances are after we fool around.” It wasn’t her fault Gwen was so hot in her work-wear. Hell, Morgana’s head’d been turned by pyjama-bedecked Gwen as freshmen in college.

Morgana stood, smirking as she advanced, kissing Gwen’s throat.

"It's the martini glass tonight, Morgs, and this client is dropping a hundred grand for this private show."

"Hmmmm," Morgana popped the skirt’s button, sucking Gwen's lower lip to the purr of the zipper unfastening. Despite her protestations, Gwen shimmed, helping the skirt drop. 

"So, you’re saying I should be incredible?"

Morgana hustled Gwen to the makeup table, watching Gwen’s round ass in the mirror, guiding her to sit on the desk, propping one stiletto-ed foot on the chair, splaying Gwen for her avid gaze.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Morgana purred, dipping for a taste of Gwen’s mouth, stroking her tongue along Gwen’s.

"You like?" Gwen teased, reaching between Morgana’s legs, encouraging Morgana to ride her hand.

"Hmmhmm."

"Then you'll love this." Gwen snapped a fan open, holding it in front of her, unbuttoning her blouse and moving the fan to the side to reveal her bra, covering up again before Morgana could touch. Wagging a finger, she admonished her girlfriend. 

"No touching."

"Tease.”

"Learnt from the best.” Grabbing another fan, she covered her pussy, to Morgana' s disappointment, and unclasped her bra out of sight.

She twitched a fan, revealing a pert nipple, covering again, folding her leg in and moving both fans to cover her breasts, sweeping one to the side while the other masked her breasts, mimicking Morgana’s act.

"Come on," Morgana wheedled, intoxicated by the display, desperate to touch as Gwen teased Morgana's breast through her costume, nipple tight against the fabric as the fan traced down her belly to her pussy, Gwen’s other hand mirroring the action on her own body, ditching the fan to tease her clit before dipping into her cunt, fingers sliding free glossy and shining, head falling back with a moan. 

“Please,” Morgana whimpered, wanting her mouth around those fingers, hands restless by her side as she held back, clenching her thighs together to ease the ache there, sweat trickling down her spine.

"Seven years - still got you begging," Gwen purred, tugging Morgana between her thighs, hissing at the scrape of sequins on sensitive nipples.

“Always,” Morgana promised, cupping a breast in her palm, she brushed her lips back and forth over the tight nipple, savouring Gwen’s whine as she arched her back to press her breast further into Morgana’s mouth.

“What I wanna do,” Morgana groaned, sinking to her knees, one hand pinching a dark nipple, the other sliding two fingers into Gwen slick and fast, twisting her wrist as she pumped them, feasting on the sight. Her mouth wasn’t slow or gentle upon Gwen, lost in the warmth and silky wet, Gwen’s hands digging into Morgana’s dark hair as she rolled her hips, finding a rhythm as Morgana sucked and teased Gwen’s clit towards climax.

Working her tongue next to her fingers, Morgana felt the spasms as Gwen came and her hips bucked and the grip in Morgana’s hair tightened, Gwen keeping her girlfriend’s mouth just where she wanted it, urging Morgana to gently suckle her clit as she came.

When Morgana lifted her mouth, her lips were reddened and slick as she stared at Gwen from beneath heavy lids.

“Best gloss ever.”

The voice of Gwen’s assistant Mithian floated through the door.

“Morgs, wipe your girl off your face and get on stage.”

* * *

**#24**

**Pairing(s):** Nimueh/Ygraine  
 **Warning(s):** n/a

Nimueh had been taking things from Ygraine since she was little. 

When they met in preschool, Nimueh had seen Ygraine's green apple slices and decided at once that she wanted them. Nimueh took them from her and Ygraine had cried. 

Nimueh decided she did not like when Ygraine cried and conjured a whole tree of green apples right in the middle of the classroom. 

She got put in time out but she also got to see Ygraine smile.  
~ 

When they got a little older Nimueh took secrets from Ygraine. Secrets about her parents and her other friends. She also took secrets about her crushes, but Nimueh didn’t quite like those. 

~  
When they got into high school Ygraine and Nimueh were always together and, even though most people looked at Nimueh like she was a freak because of the "M", for magic, branded on her hand, Ygraine was fiercely proud of their friendship. She would glare at people when they made comments and was soon known in school as the fierce and noble leader of the Magical-Normie Alliance. 

Nimueh took Ygraine's hand, then. They would walk hand-in-hand down the hallways because, according to Ygraine, "showing people that M's and N's (for normies) can be friends is important." 

It always left Nimueh a bit flustered and she soon started suspecting why. 

~  
It was in university, after watching Ygraine date multiple men that Nimueh finally took something else from Ygraine, a kiss. 

Ygraine had come over to study in Nimueh's apartment but she had started ranting about the mistreatment of Magic-kind and she was beautiful and Nimueh kissed her. 

Ygraine had kissed back and Nimueh felt her magic light up the room and glow from within her. They kissed and kissed and, when their lips were puffy and a bit swollen, Nimueh moved to kiss other parts of Ygraine. 

Her skin was soft and Nimueh ravished it. She looked at Ygraine for permission and removed her underwear. She kissed there too. She licked long, lavish licks and punctuated it with short bursts of sucking. Ygraine was warm and blushing and her whole body shook when she came for Nimueh. 

It was then that she realized that Ygraine had actually taken something from her, her heart. 

~  
Though Ygraine had married a young prince who believed in everything she was against, her and Nimueh's affair had never ended. They met in secret to relish in each other's bodies and feel each other's skin. Nimueh never waivered in her affection of Ygraine and it was for that reason she granted Ygraine's plea. 

Ygraine wanted a child. No matter the consequences. Nimueh knew magic could not create life and knew there would be dire consequences and she hoped that it would be her. But when Ygraine died during childbirth Nimueh snapped. 

She did everything that Normies expected Magic-kind to do and then some because Ygraine had taken Nimueh's heart with her.

* * *

**#25**

**Pairing(s):** Gwaine/Morgana/Other  
 **Warning(s):** polyamory

We laugh about it sometimes, the difference between what we present to the world, and what we have created in our home.

Most people see the serious banker, the passionate head of a nonprofit serving homeless girls in London, and the raffish Emergency Department nurse who crashes with his friends because he can’t grow up.

But we know that each of us is part of a marriage that is as happy as it is life-affirming.

We all wear a small gold triskelion on a chain. The jeweler gave me a funny look when I ordered three the same, but I am beyond worrying about things like that. 

Sometimes I touch mine during a stressful day, to ground myself and remind me that we are three, separate but joined, indivisible.

Our friends know, of course, and a few trusted family members. 

Mostly they are too polite to ask, but I know they are all wondering about the sex. 

Well, Arthur isn’t. Arthur really prefers not to think much at all about his sister sharing her bed with two men.

He’s made his peace with it, but it took a while, and I suspect Merlin was a big help in helping him work through it. 

But I’ve known Arthur as long as I’ve known Morgana, and I love him like a brother. I would do anything for him.

Well, anything except give up Morgana and Gwaine.

But yeah, the sex is amazing. I’ve always known I was bi, Gwaine freely admits he will screw anything that moves, and Morgana leans het.

We make it work.

We used to have sex as pairs occasionally, but none of us felt good about it, so now one of the house rules is that we all participate. Even if one of us just wants to watch the other two and stroke someone’s hair, maybe. We’re all there.

Gwaine and I are unified in worshiping Morgana’s body, though. We often say that she is so beautiful we can’t believe our luck.

Her breasts are perfectly shaped, and her nipples get gimlet hard when one of us sucks on them. She loves it when we go down on her, and loves it even more when we tease her with the vibrator until she is so wet and open that we can each slip two fingers into her tight folds and fuck her in unison.

But I think the best thing, for me, is when she mounts Gwaine, and I get behind them and pull her into my body, burying my face in her sweet-scented hair. My hands look enormous covering her breasts, and Gwaine holds her steady with his big hands on her hips as he does the ancient push-pull. I look over her shoulder and see his red prick moving in and out of her body, and I hold her as she shudders through multiple orgasms. When she’s finally done, she pushes at us, saying, “Enough, boys. You’re killing me!” 

I usually end up coming all over her lower back. 

It isn’t always easy, of course. It’s hard enough to live with one significant other, let alone two.

There was the time Morgana pitched a fit over the state of the bathroom, and went and stayed at Gwen and Lance’s for a couple of days.

Gwaine and I spent hours scrubbing every square inch of that bathroom, and when she came home the house smelled like Clorox and there were red roses on the bedside table.

She always says that when we build a house, she is going to have her own bathroom.

And every once in a while the closeness gets to be too much and one of us spends a night in the guest room. But if it happens too often, we have a family meeting.

Now there is a baby on the way. I suppose I’ll marry her to give the child legal protection, but we don’t know and don’t care about who the biological father is. 

Our child will have the love of one mother and two fathers.

Morgana says she’ll know as soon as she lays eyes on the baby, and she’s probably right. She’s a bit fey.

But I hope she doesn’t tell us immediately. I like having a world of possibilities. I like the idea of watching to see whether the little one’s hair will be straight and dark, or curly and reddish blond. 

It won’t matter either way. 

Mind, Body, Spirit. 

Earth, Air, Water.

Father, Mother, Child.

The three of us, and the world be damned.

* * *

**#26**

**Pairing(s):** Morgana/Freya  
 **Warning(s):** Canonical character death

_There should be a word for this,_ Morgana thought, as she stroked her hand over Freya’s head, careful not to wake her. 

It wasn’t love- it was much too soon for that. But it _was_ the first spark of it, or something just as important and life-changing. She knew as much; could feel it in the way her mind settled when she was near Freya, in the way her fingertips tingled whenever they brushed Freya’s skin, and in so many other little ways that it pained her to know she’d never be able to notice them all. 

If only they’d had more time- but then, time had never really been on their side to begin with, had it? 

***

The thing was, Morgana hadn’t thought to form a plan beyond that of the rescue of the druid girl. She’d only wanted to snatch Freya away from the brute of a man who’d captured her and shoved her in a cage like an animal. 

She hadn’t meant for the string of her fate to become so entangled with Freya’s. She hadn’t even anticipated that they would become friends so quickly, let alone anything more than that. 

***

The night Morgana discovered Freya’s curse was behind the mysterious, brutal deaths that had been plaguing Camelot was the night she showed Freya her magic.

Her lips stumbled over the spell, and her hand shook when she raised it, but the candle’s flame blazed higher all the same, illuminating Freya’s frail form in an almost ethereal way. 

“We’re monsters of a kind, you and I,” Morgana whispered. 

Freya said nothing, only offered Morgana a small smile. It was the first real one Morgana had seen since she’d met her.

*** 

Their fifth night together, Morgana entered their hiding place to find Freya curled in on herself on the floor, her mouth clamped down on her wrist to muffle her sobs. 

“Freya-” Morgana reached for her, but Freya flinched away from her outstretched hand. 

“I need to leave,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “I can’t stay here. I can’t keep murdering innocent people . I can’t-”

“It’s not safe out there. Not yet. Just wait until tomorrow, and I’ll get some things for the journey and- and I’ll come with you!” 

Morgana didn’t know where the decision had come from, but she knew it was the right one as soon as she said it. 

“You wouldn’t be safe with me. You’ve got a good life here, Morgana, I couldn’t live with myself if I took you away from it," Freya protested. Her eyes were huge and sad, pleading for Morgana to understand. 

 

“I’ve got magic. How safe do you imagine I can be, living at the heart of a Camelot with Uther as king?” 

“Death before and behind you,” Freya replied, with a small, ugly laugh. “You can’t win, can you?” 

“It doesn’t have to be that way. Please, I don’t want to lose you before I’ve even had you. We can make it together, I know we can."

Morgana didn’t realize she was crying until Freya took her face in her hands to kiss the tears away. She lifted her head instinctively, pressed her lips to Freya’s in a kiss that started gentle but soon turned wild in a way that awoke a burning need in Morgana’s belly and left them both panting. 

Her hands moved to the hem of Freya’s dress and stopped there, hesitant. 

“Let me,” Freya breathed. She lifted the dress over her head and kissed Morgana again, guiding Morgana’s hands to the swell of her breasts and throwing her head back with a gasp as Morgana explored her body with frantic, desperate movements, fingers moving over Freya’s nipples, the smooth skin of her stomach, and finally down to the thatch between her legs. 

Morgana quieted Freya’s whimpers with a kiss when she slid first one, then eventually two fingers between Freya’s folds and into her already wet heat, fucking her with them and rocking against her until they both came and collapsed, spent, into each other's arms.

***

That night, Morgana woke to find herself cold and alone on the ground in Camelot’s catacombs. She rushed outside just in time to see Arthur deal Freya’s Bastet form a fatal blow. 

_It's not Arthur's fault,_ she told herself, for weeks afterward. 

Then, _it’s not my fault._

She only hoped that one day she’d be able to believe it.

* * *

**#27**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** none

Arthur took the cloth sack off of Merlin’s head.

Merlin inhaled deeply and smiled as he looked up into Arthur’s face. It didn’t look like he was surprised in the least.

“Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur didn’t say anything as he slowly kneeled down in front of Merlin.

“I suppose this is payback. I kidnap you, you kidnap me. I would have thought the fact that I returned you to the loving embrace of your corrupt father would have counted for something.”

“It does. I am grateful to you, Merlin.” Arthur said sincerely.

Merlin chuckled darkly. “I was dragged from my flat, a bag was put over my head, and I was shackled.” He said as he tried to once again wriggle out of the heavy manacles. “If this is how you show your gratitude, I would hate to see you really angry.”

Arthur only grinned. He gestured to Merlin’s hands. “You don’t know when to quit, do you? You’re never going to get out of those things. My father’s top scientists in his lab have been perfecting those shackles for years. You can’t get out of them and you can’t use your magic.”

Merlin shook his head slowly. The whole reason he had kidnapped Arthur was because he knew his father Uther had been experimenting on sorcerers and witches. Uther claimed to detest any and all magic, but like all evil hypocrites, was more than happy to use magic for his own purposes.

Merlin grunted as he struggled uselessly. “Are you doing your father’s dirty work now? Am I the latest experiment?”

“No.” Arthur leaned forward and unfolded Merlin’s legs to place him in a more comfortable position. “I meant what I said Merlin. I’m grateful to you. My entire life I’ve been pampered by everyone - maids, teachers, greedy would be stepmothers - and everyone bends over backwards to do what I say. It’s quite fun, but I don’t think known anyone to show me real genuine kindness - until you. My bloody kidnapper of all people.”

Merlin closed his eyes and groaned. “Oh, God is this some kind of Stockholm Syndrome thing?”

Arthur threw back his head and laughed. “No.” He got up slowly and knee walked toward Merlin. “Did you know that I was born of magic?”

Merlin gasped. 

“I take it that you didn’t?” Arthur planted his legs on either side of Merlin’s thighs.

Merlin gulped and recoiled back slightly. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t have magic, but I’ve always wanted to know what it feels like. What is it like to feel like to have that kind of power coursing through your veins? I’ve always felt some sort of connection to those with it. But with you, Merlin,” he gently stroked the side of Merlin’s face, “it’s different. There’s something about you, Merlin.”

Arthur can feel Merlin struggling, but can also feel his growing hardness underneath him. “And what do you want me to do?”

“Make me feel it.” Arthur slowly skimmed his hands underneath Merlin’s shirt. 

Merlin moaned as Arthur ground down against him. “You have to untie me first.”

Arthur pulled back and looked into Merlin’s eyes. 

It felt like a million things were said between them in that moment. Arthur slowly stood up, and took off his pants. Merlin felt like he was about to pass out when Arthur’s boner sprang forward immediately. It was long and thick and already leaking pre-come.

Arthur sank back onto Merlin’s lap and leaned forward and unlocked Merlin’s shackles.

Immediately, Merlin had him on his back. 

Arthur gasped as he looked into Merlin’s glowing eyes. It was completely intoxicating and wondrous.

Merlin stroked his hands down Arthur’s body. Suddenly, Arthur could feel several different invisible hands stroking, pinching, and massaging every inch of his body. He was held down by invisible bonds.

Merlin kissed a hot trail down his body. Arthur felt like he was close to coming, when he looked down, and after giving him a cocky grin, without even touching him, Arthur felt a hot, warm sensation licking him open and then entering him. He felt full with it and could feel like he could float away at any moment.

When Merlin leaned above him and kissed him, Arthur finally let go and could feel his orgasm come over him in waves. He was sure this wasn't exactly what it was like to have magic, but at that moment it felt damn near close enough.

* * *

**#28**

**Pairing(s):** Morgana/Morgause  
 **Warning(s):** Sibling incest

'Come, sit with me, sister,' says Morgause, patting her lap. Morgana feels like a bird under the eyes of a cat, but she follows the direction of that purring voice and those beckoning fingers and comes to sit on her sister's knee, folding her skirts demurely about her legs as she does so. 

There will be a lesson here, she knows it. There always is with Morgause. It's just that Morgana doesn't know, yet, what it is to be. 

Morgause strokes Morgana's knee, her thigh, pulling the fabric of her gown gently as she does so. 

'What -' Morgana starts, twisting to see over her shoulder, but Morgause shushes her. In the orange firelight, Morgause looks more catlike than ever - hair golden, skin tawny, eyes a dangerous amber. And she smiles, and Morgana shivers, but it isn't with fear. She settles back against Morgause's body as long, delicate fingers trace up between her legs. 

'Are you chaste?' Morgause asks her, finding the hems on Morgana's smallclothes and tracing them. 'Untouched, my sweet sister? Innocent?'

Morgana has to work moisture into her mouth to answer. 'Yes,' she says with a little tilt to her chin, half pride and half defiance. It is so hard to tell whether Morgause approves or disapproves, but Morgana has never ached to please someone more than she does her sister. 

Lips smile foxily against the thin skin of Morgana's throat. 'We shall have to do something about that,' Morgause murmurs. 'You must be in control of yourself above all things,' she says, and the pads of her fingers are warm when they touch the insides of Morgana's thighs. 'There must be no part of yourself you don't know.'

Morgana squirms. She can't help herself. There is an unfamiliar throbbing, a wet heat between her legs, and Morgause is trailing close up to it. Morgana tries to pull her knees together, feeling a little swash of shame because Morgause said _control_ and this does not feel like it, but there is a quiet chuckle behind her and then Morgause takes her by the wrist and leads her own hand up under her skirts. She presses Morgana's fingers gently to her own flesh.

Morgana gasps. Her legs fall open wantonly, unbidden, her head lolls back. Morgause guides her fingertips through soft hair and over damp skin.

'Feel,' Morgause tells her. 'This is what they want you never to know, that you can feel like this - that you can give yourself this.' There is a place that Morgause nudges the pad of one of Morgana's fingers to, a firm-tender nub that makes something melt and shiver inside her. She feels her nipples tightening too, under the stiff fabric of her bodice, and saliva rising in her mouth, and she want, badly, for Morgause to kiss her.

But Morgause has a lesson to deliver.

'You never need anyone but yourself,' she says, and presses until Morgana's fingers slide lower and deeper. Morgana is panting now, and she doesn't even wait for Morgause to show her - the blood pounds and pulses at her core and she enters herself eagerly, with a moan she cannot help.

Morgause's fingers go with her, for a moment, and then withdraw. 'That's it,' she coaxes, and her hands, wet and dry, instead find their way to Morgana's bodice and her heavy, aching breasts, to free them to the cool air.. 'You know what you want,' Morgause says, sword-calloused palms smoothing hot over Morgana's nipples. 

Morgana is sobbing now, three fingers inside herself, smearing wetness along her wrist, sticky slick, burning, a feeling sweeter than any she's felt before. And when she's shaking, when it feels like she can't take any more, Morgause grabs her by the other wrist and moulds her fingers to her breast. 'Please,' Morgana whimpers.

'You can give yourself what you need,' Morgause says implacably and warmly. 'You need no-one but yourself.'

Morgana writhes, whines, convulses, and when she pinches, when she pushes deep, the winding tension snaps and she cries her relief with her face turned against her sister's throat, sobbing and shaking.

'There,' soothes Morgause. 'Isn't knowledge better than innocence?'

* * *

**#29**

**Pairing(s):** Morgana/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None

The house was still silent as Merlin threw himself in the passenger seat, clutching his prize. His heart was racing, he’d never done anything like this before, but when a gorgeous woman asks you to use your magic to help save a piece of local history from an evil tyrant, what’s a boy to do?

“You didn’t say it would be so heavy.” He said with a cheeky grin, cradling it in its blanket like a baby.

“I said it was made of stone Merlin, what were you expecting?” Morgana didn’t look at him as she pulled slowly out of the gravel drive, her perfect red nails tapping impatiently on the steering wheel. She didn’t switch the headlights on until they were a way down the road, and then speed back to her flat in the city.

...

The stone was placed on the coffee table in the sitting room, Morgana kept stroking it, humming to herself, and sometimes resting both hands on it and closing her eyes. Merlin hovered nearby, sipping a glass of wine.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” She whispered at last.

Merlin scrunched up his nose and mumbled something indistinct.

“What?” She snapped.

“I said… It’s kind of ugly.” Though he knew already that was the wrong thing to say. She jumped up and snatched the glass from his hand, setting it on the bookshelf before pinning him to the wall by the shoulders. She was stronger than she looked.

“In what way is it ugly?”

He gulped and peered at the Sheela na Gig. Well, her head was wonky for a start, her eyes small and angry, her mouth twisted. Also, there was the gaping… The hands, _pulling_ at her…

“Erm, it’s rather crudely carved.” Her eyes narrowed, “I mean, I don’t mean _crude_ ,” he quickly corrected himself, “I mean… Rough.”

“Well it’s a very early example,” she said sweetly. She pushed away from him and retrieved her own wine glass. “It’s a shame you find the female form so distasteful,” she sighed, swirling her wine and gazing at the figure again.

“Um?” Was all he managed to say.

“Because after all that excitement, I _had_ thought you might like to stay and help me…” She rolled her shoulders, “Unwind.”

Merlin swallowed thickly.

“But clearly you’re of no use to me if you can’t even look at a Sheela without squirming.”

“Well, I…” He paused and cocked his head to one side, coming to stand next to her. “You know, now that you mention it, there _is_ something rather fetching about her.”

Morgana smirked, “Touch her,” she said.

Merlin didn’t dither, he reached out and ran first one, then two, long fingers around the folds of her cavernous gash, before rubbing his thumb down the centre and letting it nestle within the groove of her.

Morgana banged her glass down and grabbed his hand. “That’s quite enough of that, we don’t need your oily fingers damaging a thousand-year-old work of art.”

She flicked the blanket back over her last acquisition and dragged the latest down the hall and into her bedroom.

* * *

**#30**

**Pairing(s):** None romantically. Arthur-centric.  
 **Warning(s):** None of the required warnings apply.

Arthur peeked out from behind his father's velvet cape when his father asked him if he was going to greet their new guest. He blushed when he saw the girl, a year or two older than his own five years, in a fine embroidered dress. His father pulled on Arthur's hand until he was standing by his side.

"Pleased to meet you, Prince Arthur," the girl said but instead of bending at the waist to bow, she pulled on the sides of her dress and bent her knees instead. Arthur frowned but gave a slight head bow in return.

\---  
The girl's name was Morgana and he was tasked with keeping her company when they weren't in lessons. It was the only time Arthur got to spend using his imagination for things other than war games. Arthur was more than a bit jealous that Morgana was allowed to carry around her dolls, but he was glad he got to play with her.

Let's play dress up!" Morgana shrieked excitedly one afternoon. Arthur agreed and then he was pushed behind Morgana's privacy screen and one of her dresses was tossed at him. "Put that on," she demanded.

Arthur did as he was told and when he came out Morgana gasped at him and led him to the mirror.

"You're prettier than I am, Arthur. That's hardly fair," Morgana complained as she stood behind Arthur and fussed with his hair.

Arthur smiled at his reflection, the deep red of the dress making his skin look even more tan than usual. He ran his hands down the front to smooth out the wrinkles and that was the moment his father walked in. The smile on his face quickly turned into a look of anger.

\---  
Arthur hadn't understood his father's rage about him wearing one of Morgana's dresses when Morgana was allowed to wear trousers but he quickly learned to keep his opinions to himself. He and Morgana continued to play dress up only when his father was away on business. If Arthur secretly snatched away the dresses that no longer fit Morgana before they were destroyed, no one had to know. If he sometimes slept in them because they made him feel pretty, the servants never said a word.

As Arthur and Morgana grew older and their studies changed Arthur found himself growing increasingly more jealous of Morgana and the fact that she wasn't forced to learn about swords, hunting, war, or diplomacy. Morgana sometimes joined him for his lessons but Arthur was never allowed to take any of Morgana's lessons, no matter how practical learning to sew might be.

It wasn't until Gaius was tasked with giving him the talk about nature and babies when he'd asked why Morgana had lumps on her chest and if he was going to grow them too that he understood that they weren't physically the same and Arthur started to wish he had been born a girl instead.

\---  
Arthur groaned when he saw Merlin's cheerful face first thing in the morning, he quickly glanced down to make sure his sleeping shirt was still covering the dress he was wearing and yelled at Merlin to get out. He sighed in relief that Merlin hadn't caught him, he hadn't been able to find much time to be himself since Merlin had become his manservant and had accidentally fallen asleep in the dress.

Arthur blushed as the smooth fabric of the dress shifted against his morning erection. He threw off the sheets and stripped off his shirt to go stand in front of the mirror. He frowned at the way the top of the dress stretched across his chest and wished he had Morgana's breasts to fill it out better. He liked the way the fabric stretched at his hips, though, except for the ugly bulge in front of his crotch. It gave the illusion of him having the curves he'd craved for so long.

Arthur smiled at the mirror and hiked up the dress so that his hard cock was exposed and wrapped his hand around it, stroking quickly. He found release in how obscene his hard cock looked against the delicate blue embroidered fabric and made sure to keep the mess of it from shooting on the dress. He quickly cleaned himself off and tucked his dick between his legs staring at how much better the dress looked without the bulge in front for a few minutes before resigning himself to starting the day and stripping it off.

* * *

**#31**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** Character deaths, mention of blood and war.

They say the war won’t come to Camelot, that the old King and Queen’s spirits are protecting the town. They do not fear. 

Gwen is six when her mother’s footsteps turn into faint echoes, following them into the dark forest when they run from the soldiers.

Their mother paid for her involvement with the rebels with her life; now they must pay for their lives with fear, always keep their head down. Gwen is twelve when Elyan slips out into the night. He leaves her a purple orchid, already fading. He leaves her the quiet and the dread and her father’s grief that are like a tether, and the passing days she doesn’t count for fear they will never end.

*

They say the war has managed to reach them after all because – because the old Queen is lost and has left the other realm in helpless grief, unable to protect the town. Gwen likes to pretend she can sometimes see her from the corner of her eye, behind a tree, pleads with her to go back and make it all stop (pleads with her to stay a while, just the shortest while, to keep her company). 

*

Food is scarce, and sometimes it seems like people are, too, but they say the Queen will return in time, will save them all, and peace will return. Mark my words. You’ll see. 

Gwen is very good with bandages, but sometimes (oftentimes), they are not enough.

(They say the war will last forever.)

*

They say the Queen hasn’t yet returned because she was snatched from her world and trapped in another. She must complete one – two – three tasks before she can escape. Patience, my friends. 

Gwen is nineteen when they meet. She looks otherworldly, beautiful, fey, and Gwen’s heart trips over itself for no good reason at all. It must be Her.

It isn’t.

‘ _You_ ’re Queen Guinevere. You have been lost to us for many years. The balance has been upset, and our world is fading.’

Gwen laughs out loud, then feels warm, giddy. There is somewhere she belongs, somewhere that is not the bleakness of this world. 

Then she feels nothing but shame, for abandoning her people.

*

They say one of the tasks must test the Queen’s courage, like in the old legends. 

Gwen has never held a sword. She has also never seen a wildeorn. She drops her weapon and screams – then runs towards the glowing ruby at the back of the cave, does not take her eyes off it; sprints back out as the cave collapses. Her heart stays trapped in her chest, but just barely. 

It’s still beating erratically when Morgana smiles at her.

*

All she has to do is cross the labyrinth and bring back the bread she takes with her, whole. Gwen is used to fasting, and for her people, she can last a while longer.

The man on the ground has the same otherworldly quality Morgana has, but he looks gaunt and frail. ‘Gwen…,’ he says, and just like that, she knows, _Merlin_.

She sits with him for hours, debates giving him some bread. In the end, she kisses his mouth with feeling. He feels like an old friend. ‘I will come back for you, I promise.’

Morgana is furious. ‘You’ve lost precious time. Why do you always go to him? _I_ ’m here to help you.’ Her smile is sudden and weary. ‘I know what it’s like, not to be loved for so long, you know.’ 

Her mouth is hot in the way Merlin’s wasn’t, and when she caresses a nipple through the fabric, Gwen learns what longing means. She learns what pleasure means with Morgana’s mouth on her cunt, Morgana’s fingers digging into her thighs. She leaves marks.

After, Morgana says, ‘Remember this,’ and holds her, tightly.

*

The third task, they say, must be the hardest.

‘We need a blood sacrifice for the spell to work. It has to be someone related to you.’

The knife slips from her hands the same way her sword did. It falls with a loud clang, but her father sleeps on peacefully. It falls with a loud clang, and she doesn’t hear the soldiers just outside the door.

She’s used to seeing blood. She almost expects her own to glow, but it’s just the same.

*

They say the queen refused to spill another’s blood and passed the final test. They say she is home at last.

They say she died alone on the floor of her house.

They say peace will come soon.

They say it’s all a lie.

They say…

They say.

* * *

**#32**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):**

It’s a small and tired thing, waiting for someone to come around.

She leans her head against the bricks, shutting her eyes, her mouth puckering as she tries to will the vision back, wishing for a second of sleep so that it may return. The grimy pavement feels grainy and wet beneath her fingertips. 

She’d seen him. He was coming.

Until then, she had some time to waste. She manages to stumble and crawl into the alley between the apartment complexes whose shared pavement she’d been falling in and out of consciousness on. Hidden from the public, though not that any person here would care, she extracts a needle from within the folds of her tattered clothes. Bringing it up to the light, she curses and flings it away when she sees the blood swirling in the mix. She’d fucked it up a few nights ago and had been too high to realize it then. She digs around the pocket of her sweater and finds a little bag that was also empty. She screams and tosses it away too, the little bag fluttering ineffectively right to her feet. The brick hurts against her head and she wishes that pain was as pleasurable as the stab of a needle or the burn of a powder.

“Morgana,” he warned gently from between her legs, his breath over her flesh sending a feather of delight up her spine.

She bit her lip, her brow furrowing, as she held in the moan that skittered at the edge of her lips. She tried to massage his head with her hand, the other caught in trying to hold up all her skirts, but succeeded in making him hiss in pain as she inadvertently tugged and clenched in accordance with his tongue. A greeting and a gay laugh floated into the room through the space beneath the door. Servants and royals so close to where she was falling apart beneath the lips of a peasant turned manservant was positively exhilarating. 

“Morgana.”

Her eyes burn.

“Morgana.”

She startles awake as a hand gently shakes her arm. She’d fallen asleep again. He pulls her up and she closes her eyes. Now she could rest.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he whispered by her ear, his breath ghosting down her cheek.

She turned her face and simply breathed, inhaling and exhaling their air from parted lips. It was hot and they were tired. His hand curled a tendril of hair around its finger. She pressed a kiss to his jaw.

Their movements were unhurried, practiced things. It was easy to find x’s when the path has been mapped before. He let her touch him first, circling her wrist loosely as she stroked, twisting it as she moved upwards. She enjoyed the feeling; the silent power in causing the gentle sighs, the quiet gasps. His hand ran along her thigh and she grimaced at the slow penetration, the hesitant prod before the inevitable breach. The sensation was pleasurable, albeit the friction somewhat dry, and his body perspired from the effort of love on a humid evening. His body moved slickly atop hers and his hand skimmed her abdomen before reaching below, intensifying the pleasure and the friction heightened. The candles in the room burned brightly before settling, little mice scurried into corners in fright.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks, pulling her gaze from the passing landscapes and blurry buildings.

She can’t do anything but roll her head to face him, wishing she had an answer better than I missed you too much. He looks away but the hand that rests on her knee gives a comforting squeeze and she thinks perhaps he knows the better answer.

“I was waiting for you.”

She brushed the hair from his forehead away, smoothing his eyebrow and tucking his longer lengths behind his ear. His eyes opened slowly, squinting up at her before smiling placidly. 

“It will not be so terrible,” he had murmured, his fingers tracing little circles on her thigh. 

Destiny was a fickle thing. 

“How will we find each other again?” she had asked, wishing the vision in her mind would burn away into a pile of ash. A breeze on the wind ready to blow away.

He turned his head from her breast and lifted himself just enough to give a small kiss to her cheek.

“I will find you,” he’d assured.

“Me too,” he said.

Her smile is small and timid as she blinks the sleep from her eyes.

* * *

**#33**

**Pairings:** Morgana/Gwen, implicit showing of Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warnings:** None 

Consciousness comes slowly to her. Pain, anger, and betrayal thuds roughly against her skull before fading gossamer thread like. She blinks and her memories _(are they hers?)_ filter past her before she can reach forward to grab onto them. 

“One day you’ll be able to catch them.” The voice startles her, a shadow shrouded in the dark.

There are many questions that fight against her tongue, but “Why?” wins.

“Some will say for the afterlife, others will say redemption. Some others will say vengeance, and some yet will say to find peace. In the end, it’s an answer you will have to find yourself.”

“And will I find it?”

“Maybe.” The _maybe not_ echoes in the silence.

\----

Catching dreams is easy. They’re fleeting, half built from past wants, half built from fresh desires. They are a meager sustenance with their fragile, cotton candy like hopes that almost always melt once taken.

Memories on the other hand. 

Good memories, they are like diamonds in the rough.

\-----

Her father swoops down to carry her on his shoulders. 

“My little princess,” he says grinning at her. She is five years old and her father is her knight in armour. Her eyes, _green_ , shine with joy as she giggles. The sound echoes across the courtyard. Her dress, red and gold glint in the sun.

_(...my father by blood alone)_

It is the first memory she steals. 

\----

“Happy birthday, little sister,” her sister says warmly, slugging an arm around her shoulders.

“What is it?” she says tugging at the small package, wrapped silver and blue. 

“You’ll see.”

The wrapping crinkles as she tears it apart.

“Oh.” The gold bracelet sparkles against the light.

“How did you know?!”

Her sister laughs, blond hair ruffling in the wind, her eyes amused, “Why wouldn’t I?”

_(I hope you will remember me fondly)_

Memories with love, whether loving someone or doing something one loves, those are the sweetest. She can feel those down to her toes, chasing all the shadows away.

\----

She’s not sure how much time has passed. Only sure that she still hasn’t found her answer yet. Sometimes it feels startlingly close, like tip of the tongue. 

Then she stumbles.

\----

Soft lips brush against one another, hip to hip, in the large canopy bed. The press of their bodies is slick, his thighs wrapped around his golden haired lover as they thrust against him. He can’t help but let out a low desperate moan at a particularly hard thrust. His hands reach up, fingers digging into the muscled back. He arches against the sheets, his dark hair damp with sweat, his eyes briefly flickering open, blue against gold--

_(time and again...lay your life down for him)_

And then he notices her. There is power to him that sings to her like kindred spirit. His eyes, a strange marriage of blue and gold, stare in shock, widen in recognition. The grief hits her like a punch to her gut. 

Staggering she pulls away, fleeing from his past. _(Or maybe hers?)_

The longest memories, the ones that should’ve faded with time are the ones that are the most bittersweet.

\----

It’s a late autumn afternoon and she’s wearing her favorite maroon sweater. Her boots crunch against the leaves, orange, russet and yellow. The wind is brisk but she still feels the uneven heat of the sun against her face. And there at their tree, she’s waiting. 

_(If anything happened to you, I could not bear it)_

“Hi. You came.”

_(It’s alright. I’m here.)_

“You waited,” she asks unsure, hands fidgeting, wanting to reach out and cup her face.

“You don’t remember do you?,” she asks exasperatedly, but her brown eyes are warm and looking at her fondly.

She doesn’t---

\---They’re picking wild berries out in the field, sharing sticky sweet kisses on a horse blanket. They’re healers battling the plague in Venice, finding comfort in each other as the death toll raises. They’re traveling the continent, the varying dialects dancing their tongues as their mouths map each other’s bodies against satin sheets. They’re nurses in the great war, cities are being burned around them and in dark corners their fingers rub and tease, rough and gentle until it’s only them in the deafening roar. They’re literature graduates, discussing Keats and Browning between low moans and Plath and Rilke between sleepy morning cuddles. They’re the handmaid and the princess. They’re the queen and the sorceress. They’re--

“I’ll always wait for you Morgana,” Gwen says holding out her hand, palm up.

_(It’s only ever been you.)_

And Morgana remembers.

* * *

**#34**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur/Morgana/Gwen  
 **Warning(s):** None

“Are we doing the right thing?”

Merlin asks for what must be the fifth time in the last month, and Arthur sighs in the bunk beneath him. From the opposite side of the tent, Gwen and Morgana’s breathing have already evened into sleep.

“Stop torturing yourself, Merlin. For the last time, your father’s high up in the Ministry. All our parents are. We didn’t have any choice.”

Arthur almost falls asleep, with the sound of the wind in the trees outside, before Merlin’s anxious, lost voice comes again.

“It’s just… we heard about the Weasley family all having to disappear because their son’s aiding Undesirable Number One. … Why aren’t we doing what they’re doing?”

Arthur doesn’t even bother opening his eyes. They’ve been through this a hundred times before.

“Because wars aren’t won by men on the front lines alone. We have our own part to play, to make sure this one is won for the right side.”

~

The next morning, once the tent’s tucked away in Arthur’s enchanted rucksack, Morgana rolls the sleeve of her jumper high enough to press a finger to her Dark Mark. 

“They’ve apparated again, but not far. The Department of Magical Tracking and Tracing’s working as hard as they can, but they can only give us an approximate location today.”

“Fine. Better, actually,” Arthur declares. “Maybe today we won’t have to lie when we report we haven’t found them.”

~

By virtue of their families’ Pureblood statuses and their spotless track record, Arthur, Merlin, Morgana, and Gwen were the team of Snatchers who’d been given Potter as their prime target. Now they knew everything the Dark Lord did regarding Potter’s whereabouts, and risked their lives to keep the Dark Lord thinking he was getting closer to him, while in reality Potter remained safely beyond his grasp.

After weeks of turning other errant Snatchers off the trail and feeding the Ministry just enough hints to avoid suspicion, they receive an unexpected task from Severus Snape.

“You’re sure this is where he meant?” Gwen asks, holding the Sword of Gryffindor and gazing at the legendary blade in wonder as she stands on the bank of a frozen pond.

Merlin nods. “Yes. Snape said he’ll lead Potter here, when the time is right.”

~

When Potter accidentally activates the trace on Voldemort’s name, there’s nothing the four of them can do. Other snatchers, greedy for the bounty, swarm to the location much faster than the four could try fending them off. 

~

When the Battle of Hogwarts breaks out, the four aren’t among the army on the castle grounds. They can’t face former classmates who tonight defend the castle and who wouldn’t understand the role the four had played, nor could they turn on their friends in the Dark Lord’s ranks. When the curses break out like terrible fireworks, the flashes find them in a clearing deep inside the Forbidden Forrest, warded by Merlin for invisibility.

Regardless of the battle’s result, they know that come dawn, the world will never be the same. So they spend those deciding hours together, as they had previously had the opportunity to only rarely in their lives.

Gwen sprawls on her back, flushed with Arthur’s head buried between her legs and Morgana straddling her face. 

Merlin hangs back, touching himself or trailing his fingers along Gwen’s body, until Morgana moves over to him and they twine close, Merlin’s fingers curling into where she’s already slick and swollen.

When Merlin finally dips Morgana back enough to slide inside her, her desperate sounds make Arthur and Gwen follow suit. She crawls into his lap, her legs curled around his back and his arms holding her securely as he fucks up into her, until he feels the incredible hot rush of her climax seizing around him. 

Once Gwen pulls off, gasping and sensitive and leaving Arthur painfully in need, Arthur dives towards the other two. Morgana shakes, shuddering almost violently when Arthur starts licking around where Merlin’s cock is sliding in and out of her. The touch of Arthur’s tongue to her clit combines with Merlin’s thrust, and she comes with her back arching off the ground. Arthur hungrily laps away every drop of her release. Merlin quickly finishes off a near-desperate Arthur with a deep claiming of his lips and quick pumps of his cock. By the time Arthur’s spent, Morgana and Gwen have recovered enough to bring Merlin to the edge with their mouths working over him together.

In a sated, sweaty heap afterwards, they take hands as they look over to the shattered sky above the castle.

“Do you think we were on the right side of history?” Merlin asks.

Gwen kisses his cheek. 

“I know it.”

* * *

**#35**

**Pairing(s):** Nimueh/Ygraine  
 **Warning(s):** None

Ygraine de Bois is many things. She is the embodiment of a true lady, with subtle wit and a very peculiar way in which she uses her soft voice so that even lords and battle-baptised knights fall silent and listen to what she has to say. She is the best friend and one true love of Nimueh, and Nimueh must admit she is happy the feelings are mutual.

Ygraine is graceful like a nymph, so when she barges into Nimueh's room (yet bearing all her grace) the latter is, to say the least, surprised.

Ygraine locks the door and presses an ear against the thick hard wood; for a good while there's only the silence, every now and then interrupted by her inhaling deeply. Nimueh is about to say something but Ygraine, without moving from the door, raises her finger and so Nimueh stills, patiently, awaiting for whatever it is that's been troubling Ygraine to pass. Her fragrance - tender decorative flowers the names of which Nimueh will never remember because they're neither herbs nor magic - reaches Nimueh's nose and she's can't help herself, and inhales. Her skin tingles; in her stirs the desire to take in more, inhale directly from Ygraine's skin, taste it, kiss it, worship it-

She takes a deep, perhaps a bit sharp, breath, and tries to think of other things. Inappropriate thoughts reach her a tad bit too easily as of late, she reckons.

Ygraine lifts her ear from the door and rushes across the room to where Nimueh stands, still silent and smiling. The latter's about to greet when Ygraine takes a hold of her head and pulls her into a kiss. 

Shock runs through Nimueh's whole body, so hard she shudders and has to grab Ygraine's slender forearms lest she tumbles and falls. Ygraine's lips are hot; her tongue is insistent, her body as if feverish. As Nimueh returns the kiss she racks her mind as to what may be the cause of all this - Ygraine has had not one occasion to prove herself playful, yet there's never been this... need, this _urgency_ , as if the world was ending, as if this was their last meeting.

Nimueh abandons reasoning and coherent thought when Ygraine pushes her onto the bed and straddles her, fingers already on the task of taking off whoseever dress comes first. 

For hours, they don't leave the bed, and Nimueh, who has always cared little for her own pleasure in this, now feels like glass shattered into dust, like her body and soul have exploded into an eternity not quite unlike the night sky, vast and cosmic. As their bodies intertwine and their lips meet in more and more insatiable kisses she feels like crying. She buries her fingers deep into Ygraine, covers her breasts and neck in tender kisses, watches as Ygraine writhes and moans in pleasure, and arches her back when she reaches her peak, and feels like crying, and doesn't know why. _Perhaps this is love,_ she thinks while Ygraine makes herself comfortable in her embrace, _happiness so big it brings you to tears_. She kisses Ygraine's slightly damp hair, and again, feels overwhelmed.

"May I ask what caused this, My Lady?" Nimueh murmurs while she strokes the tender skin of Ygraine's shoulder.

Ygraine's sharp inhale is audible; she buries her face into Nimueh's chest and her grip on Nimueh tightens. It's a peculiar thing, to see Ygraine de Bois shy - all her deeds she does with confidence. Nimueh can't help herself and strokes her hair. "Forgive me, I shouldn't have asked-"

"I'm to be married to Uther Pendragon," Ygraine says quickly.

All the warmth disappears from Nimueh's body; it feels as if her very blood has turned to ice. A tear burns her eye and runs down her cheek.

* * *

**#36**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Lance with a side of Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** PORN.

Gwen wiped her eyes.

“Picture this, Lance, they were both buck naked banging on the bathroom floor,” she said. “I never really wanted to see Merlin’s bare arse while he fucked my husband.”

Lance felt sympathetic, but he couldn’t say he didn’t want to see it. “I know you didn’t want to walk in on that, but it’s been over with Arthur for six months. You’ve said so yourself.”

“I know we’re just staying in the house together as friends for Mordred’s sake, but still. He was fucking one of my best friends in my bathroom!”

“And you’ve been sleeping with one of his best friends for four months.”

Gwen sighed. “Yeah, I know. But not in the house!”

Lance grinned. “At least he’s happy, come on. You guys shouldn’t have gotten married so young. He doesn’t care that we’re together, either. He told me himself.”

Gwen put her glass down and leaned over Lance. “My eyes were burned, ok? Merlin’s arse is really pasty.”

“Okay…”

“Put another image there?”

Lance smiled. “As my lady commands,” he said, and leaned up to kiss her. 

Gwen stood and extended a hand, and when Lance took it she led him to the bedroom of his small flat. She stripped, and settled back on his bed with her knees bent and her thighs parted.

Lance knelt between her thighs. “What do you desire, my love?”

“Lick me,” she commanded, the echo of the Queen she had been evident in her tone. 

Lance leaned over her cunt, taking in the neat trim and inhaling the scent. Holding her hips down, he parted her folds and dove in, swirling his tongue over her most sensitive place. 

“Yes, that’s it,” Gwen said. “Oh, yes, baby.” She ran her fingers through his hair, encouraging him further.

Soon she was clenching his head there, all but riding his talented tongue and fingers. “I’m coming, oh god, don’t stop!” She rode out her orgasm, and he was relentless. 

“Fuck me. Fuck me now,” she moaned.

“As you wish,” Lance said. He flipped her over. She braced herself on his headboard as he sunk deep into her from behind. 

Lance fucked her into the mattress, Gwen writhing on his cock. She screamed her second release into the pillow. 

“Fuck my arse,” she begged. 

Lance reached for the lube and slid a finger into her arse. He could feel his cock through the walls and she moaned her approval. He added a second finger and scissored, sliding a third finger in to the sound of Gwen’s moans. He fed his cock into her arse inch by inch, slowly filling her up. 

“God, you feel amazing,” Lance said, retreating and sliding back in. 

“I feel so full,” Gwen said, and moaned again as Lance bottomed out. 

“Can you imagine Arthur feeling this full?”

Gwen moaned, imagining for just a moment Arthur getting fucked into the floor of her bathroom, this time by Lance.

Lance clenched her hips tight and she felt his cock spasm in her, triggering her third orgasm. He slid his softening cock out of her arse, gathered her to his chest, and kissed the top of her head. “I love you, my Queen,” he said.

“You’ll always be my knight in shining armor, baby,” she replied.

* * *

**#37**

**Pairing(s):** Elena/Other, Mithian/Other, Vivian/Other, Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Sex Work, Possible dub-con

The caravan creaks as it rolls over a bump in the road. The silken curtains flutter in the breeze, but the air is thick inside. 

A bead of sweat rolls down Elena's forehead and she adjusts her veil.

"Don't bother fidgeting," Mithian drawls, voice slow and sweet from the heat. Mithian is veiled as well, but hers is a delicate pink to Elena's blue. "It just wastes energy." 

"You get used to it eventually," says Vivian. She's cooling herself with an ornate green fan that matches her clothing. The birds painted on the side flutter as she waves it. 

Elena puffs out a breath. "At least it's silk." She fluffs her silken bodice. "I can't even begin to imagine wool in this heat."

Mithian shifts, turning over on the soft pillows. "We've learned. Not only is silk lovely on the skin, but it cools fairly easily."

Elena swallows. "What if- what if he requests one of our services? It's so hot- I don't know what I'd do. My face paint is but melting under my veil."

"He won't do anything in this heat," Vivian says. She adjust herself so her blonde head is resting on Elena's thigh. "He can't bear to move as well. If he calls for your service simply serve him shaved ice and fan him. He'll probably fall asleep soon after."

"But if not," Vivian's brightly painted mouth shows through her veil, "they you should dip his member in shaved ice and then lick it off. Maybe next time he'll think twice about requesting your service in such weather."

A snort comes from the corner of the caravan, and the girls turn to look at the fourth member of their harem, who is dressed in yellow silk.

"You know," Mithian says pointedly. "Some of us actually wish to provide pleasure to the king. Unlike others."

The steady clop of horses' hooves continues in the background, but now it's drowned out by a thundering.

Vivian sits up. "What's that?"

She screams as a curtain wall is slashed to shreds, reveal an armor-clad man.

"Greetings fair damsels!" The warrior grins. The caravan jolts to a halt. "I'm here to rescue you from your terrible fate!"

The girls stare at him.

Finally, Mithian speaks. "Please go away. We like our fate." 

"I make good money for this!" Vivian chimes in.

Elena only manages to nod.

The knight looks confused. "But- I'm supposed to rescue you? It's a quest! I need to rescue a fair maiden on my quest."

Suddenly, he is attacked by yellow silk.

"Take me with you!" Merlin gasps (for the one sitting in the corner had in fact been him). "My skin is fair and I am but a maiden!"

The knight licks his lips, hesitates, then slings Merlin over his horse. "I shall rescue you fair maiden!" And he rides away.

Elena looks at Mithian. She's sitting there with her mouth wide open. Elena can't see Vivian.

"What the fuck?" Vivian says. 

\---

Somewhere hidden in the trees, Merlin is nestled in front of the knight on his horse, doing his best to rub his ass back onto the knight's cock.

"I'm Merlin," he purrs, and grins as the knight groans.

"And I'm Sir Arthur. You said you were a maiden?" Arthur sounds like he's gritting his teeth. Merlin grabs the reins and pulls the horse to a stop.

Jumping down, he says, grinning, "Oh no. I just told you that to get out of that caravan." He pulls Arthur down after him with a yank and then gropes him through his leathers. 

"Don't you want a reward for your completed quest?"

Arthur groans, hips hitching his cock into Merlin's hands and Merlin smirks.

"Don't come too soon. You still have ravishing to do."

* * *

**#38**

**Pairing:** Isolde/Tristan  
 **Warnings:** None

“I’m going to visit a tree,” Isolde said to her men, all of whom looked at least half-dead from the previous night’s ale. “Then I’m going to bathe, and I expect camp to be broken by the time I return.”

They responded in grunts and groans, but half of them were already on their feet by the time she got her boots on.

The last few days had been uneventful. They were in a quiet stretch of forest in Nemeth, and the worst they’d gotten was a rowdy wild boar, which had made for several very satisfying meals. Perhaps Isolde had gotten complacent, or perhaps she was just as groggy as her men—whatever the case, she had just finished braiding her wet hair and was on her way back to camp when a strong arm wrapped around her front and the familiar coolness of a blade pressed against her throat.

“I’m unarmed,” she said, which wasn’t true.

“I know.” The person’s voice was low and wet against Isolde’s ear. “This is your knife.”

Isolde shifted her legs together and found that, yes, the knife was missing from her boot.

“Sneaky,” she said, straining her neck away from the blade. “What do you want?”

“I’ve been watching you. You’re Isolde, renowned smuggler.”

Isolde chuckled. “I didn’t know I was famous. And you are?”

“Name’s Tristan. I’ll just ….”

The arm around Isolde’s chest slackened, and she felt fingers sliding hot down the front of her trousers. He made quick work of the strings that secured her purse between her legs, bulging like a half-hard cock.

“With tits like those, no one would ever believe you’re a man,” Tristan said, voice rough like this was foreplay.

And maybe it was, a little bit, because Isolde was feeling distinctly damp and tingly, but _no one_ was allowed to touch her gold. She reached back between his legs to squeeze his balls and found … nothing. The knife slackened in his hand, and she turned in his grip.

“Are you a eunuch?” she blurted out. Tristan looked like she’d gelded him herself, his handsome face pinched. “It’s all right if you are.”

Isolde steadied Tristan’s hand, leaving the knife in his grasp but easing his arm down to his side. She peeled away from him slowly, lifted her shirt and showed him the scar that marked her destroyed womb.

“Poison arrow,” she said simply.

Tristan’s fingers brushed over the mottled skin, tracing the dark poison-dyed veins up, her shirt lifting higher, exposing her until the marks stopped, just a beat away from her heart. His touch felt like fire cauterising her wounds, painful and necessary. His knuckles brushed the underside of her breast, and Isolde’s gasp was loud against the snow-muted forest.

“How did you survive?” Tristan said, voice quiet. He pulled his hand away, but Isolde caught it and placed his palm to her flesh, eased his thumb over her nipple and moaned into it.

“Magic,” she said. “Druids.”

Isolde heard the gentle thud of the knife hitting the ground, and she pushed Tristan back against a tree, her mouth on his before he could say anything else about her injury. He cupped both of her breasts, slotted a leg between her thighs and let her rub against him like a wildcat in need of a good fucking.

She moaned loudly into his mouth, a warning for anyone who might happen across them. Just as no one was allowed to touch her gold, no one was allowed to interfere with her pursuit of climax. Tristan moved his hands from her breasts to her arse, slipping them down the back of her trousers and pressing one finger against her hole. It was enough to make Isolde shudder apart.

Soaked through and satisfied, Isolde said, “How do you—I mean, can you—”

“I’m not a eunuch,” Tristan said. He took Isolde’s hand, guiding it slowly down the front of his trousers.

“Oh,” Isolde said, feeling the slick skin between Tristan’s legs, brushing her fingers over luscious folds and finding his opening.

“I’m not a woman,” Tristan said as Isolde’s fingers slipped into his wetness.

“No need to state the obvious,” Isolde said, getting Tristan’s whole cunt cradled in her hand. “Besides, I’m not attracted to women.” She crooked her fingers inside him hard.

Tristan’s kiss was hot and needy, and Isolde finger-fucked him until he came, his laughter impossible to resist, full of joy and maybe a bit of gratitude.

* * *

**#39**

**Pairing(s):** endgame: Morgana/Gwen (side pairings: Merlin/Gwen, Arthur/Merlin, Gwen/Lance, Arthur/Gwen)  
 **Warning(s):** internalised biphobia; allusions to hate crime and homophobia

 

(13)

Merlin was beautiful in a fey way, his kisses soft, his touch gentle but wondering. They were friends first, lovers second, so when Merlin’s head turned after Freya walking past, Gwen smiled, letting go.

***

(16)

Lance was love, undoing Gwen. They spent two summers of whispered love declarations and first times together. The memory was aching (Lance left for a teaching programme overseas) and bitter: after Gwen said she’d wait for him, Lance, thinking himself noble, broke up with her to save her from heartbreak.

Merlin told her that love didn’t mean patronising someone. It still hurt.

***

(18)

Arthur was all hard angles protecting a lovely softness. He was clever, brave. When she looked at him, Gwen knew he was the sun’s single most beloved thing.

But he called her Guinevere, and the way he froze upon first meeting Merlin reassured Gwen: this would never happen. It was easy not to fall for Arthur. When Arthur, however, asked her out, she agreed. He took her to his father, and Gwen understood.

Uther, heterosexist tyrant, would disown his son if he caught his gaze lingering on Merlin; Gwen was safer. Arthur confessed, later, wretched, he hadn’t meant to do this, hadn’t meant to keep secrets. Gwen only said, “It’s okay,” and left it at that.

She wasn’t in love. Certainly not in any position to judge.

Not when her own heart was dark with secrets.

***

(19)

Morgana came to live with the Pendragons.

She was pale, dark, beautiful in a sharp way. She wasn’t just rebellious from her army boots and red-black tartan skirts but her very core; she moved in with Merlin after Uther tossed her out (“... told him to stick his chauvinistic bullshit up his own arse...”). By extension, Gwen, too.

The first time she saw Morgana, Gwen thought she understood how Arthur’d felt, meeting Merlin: electrified, breathless.

Threatened, in all the best ways.

She looked away, even when Morgana looked back. 

*

Months passed. Morgana kept looking, Gwen kept looking away. 

Nothing happened. 

(Nothing _could_ happen.)

And if Gwen’s heart trembled, between night and dawn, her fingers stealing down between her legs, black hair and sly smile in mind—no one had to know.

*

(Gwen remembered her brother’s death, clearly. 

Remembered the nurses saying, “hate crime,” her father saying, “humanity.” Most of all she remembered how her brother had loved another boy like their father had loved their mother.

When she’d glanced after a girl herself, at fourteen, panic had stilled her heart. When the girls had changed after PE, she’d looked away; looked at boys instead.

She’d never once cried for Elyan.)

*

Sometimes (tonight) the memories overwhelmed her.

The party was deafening; the silence inside her was louder. She was sitting, blank, alone in a corner. She never noticed who talked to her, or held her, until—

slim, wiry-strong arms went around her, and with it a scent that shot into Gwen’s stomach like an arrow. Gwen thought she’d vomit from panic when she clung to Morgana, not realising they were walking up the stairs until she felt something soft at her back. She stared up at her own Deftones poster. 

The bed dipped. Morgana’s face appeared above hers. Blurry, white, black, and red. The red moved when Morgana spoke. “You okay?”

An exhalation against Gwen’s chin. Warm, good.

It was hard to look away, suddenly.

“I’m n-not gay,” Gwen stuttered, didn’t know why. She had to say it.

Morgana was too close.

Gwen stared at Morgana until the burn fled her chest, appearing in her eyes instead. The noose was there, drawing tighter. Before it snapped, Gwen mindlessly gripped Morgana’s wrist.

Morgana wasn’t close enough. 

Gwen broke. There were words, hoarse, pleading. Hers. “Please, _please_ —”

Morgana hushed her with her mouth, her hands, her fingers. Trying not to feel was trying to breathe underwater: Morgana’s hands held her thighs apart as they quaked, her tongue licked shockdelight around Gwen’s clit, her finger slipped inside, and it was so _exactly_ what Gwen wanted that it ripped a crack into the silence.

When Morgana’s teeth closed in the soft flesh of Gwen’s inner thigh, Gwen felt the mad need to be marked all over. Perhaps then she could stay here, belonging to Morgana, where there was no time, no space, only feeling.

After, Morgana held her as she cried all the tears she’d never allowed herself. At last, tearless, nose against Morgana’s neck, she heard Morgana murmur, “You’ll be all right.”

In that moment, Gwen believed her.

* * *

**#40**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Mithian, Mithian/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** mutual infidelity, implied compensation-for-sex

Rain pattered on the roof, painted wavy lines through the dust on the grimy window. In the dim grey of twilight, Mithian could only see the curve of Gwen's lips, her profile, as she lifted damp curls from the nape of her neck, sighing at the breeze.

She wetted a cloth in the basin, dragging it over her skin, across her breasts and between her legs. A man would have called it a whore's bath, but Mithian didn't care, just wanted to pull her back into bed, make her wet and messy again.

"Do you have to go?" She curled a hand around Gwen's thigh, licked the inside of her thigh, the smell of their sex filling her head, until Gwen shivered and pulled away.

"You know I do, chérie." Gwen leaned in and kissed her, gentle. A goodbye kiss, so different from the frantic intensity of before. She was distracted. "I'm seeing Arthur later."

Mithian turned away, ignoring Gwen's pout, and shook a Gauloise from the pack, scratching a match against the wine crate that served as bedside table.

"Thought you were done with that prick," Mithian muttered, but her heart picked up speed. Gwen's hand curved around hers, cool, and she slid onto the bed, lighting her own cigarette from Mithian's. Gwen only smoked Gitanes. She smiled like a schoolgirl sharing a secret.

"You should see the pile of bills he has in that penthouse. All the jewels too."

Mithian's throat closed. Money, that's what it always came down to.

Walking up into Montmartre was an ironic reminder that she was no better herself. The haze was thick on the hill, the streets dark and slick. She might as well have been descending into the gutter, that was how dirty she felt coming here.

Mithian rang the bell and waited, checking up and down the deserted street. You could never be too careful. It was late, later than she'd meant to be. She would pay for that. But the information she'd gleaned tonight would make up for it, she hoped.

From the outside, it looked like just another student flat, but inside every stick of furniture cost as much as Mithian could eat on for a year.

The door clicked open and Mithian entered. Only when the door closed again did Morgana emerge from the shadows into the flicker of gas lighting. Mithian wanted to roll her eyes - really, it was so overdramatic - but then Morgana had her pressed up against the wall, her chin in a harsh grip as Morgana kissed her, probing her mouth as if she could taste for lies.

As always Mithian resisted at first, sparring with her tongue, but then Morgana was rucking up her skirt and tracing the seam of her panties. She wasn't wearing nylons, they'd only be run to shreds by Morgana's fingernails.

"Hello, darling," Morgana cooed. "You're still so wet. Playing with our little friend?"

She squirmed, ashamed as Morgana's fingers slicked into her cunt. She was still swollen and now she would be sore. Morgana wasn't shy about shoving three fingers in, and it was too much, too hard, yet not enough all at once.

"She visited me earlier, but-- oh! Morgana!"

Mithian jumped when Morgana ripped open her blouse, scattering buttons, but before she could protest this mistreatment of her clothing, Morgana was pulling down the cups of her brassiere and ducking her head to suck and bite Mithian's nipples. She moaned, hands coming up to clutch at Morgana's shoulders. Her legs were trembling and she slumped back against the wall.

She loved this, how rough Morgana was with her, as much as Gwen's sweet embraces. She was an addict, unable to stop herself from oscillating between them. One she couldn't have, the other she shouldn't. Even if Gwen would give up her benefactor in the Milieu, Morgana would never let her go. Not without a fight.

"Tell me what she told you. Is it going to be tonight?"

"No, oh-- not tonight. In a week's time. Gwen--" she sucked in a breath as Morgana curled her fingers, "She'll be the look-out."

Morgana bit down, her fingers rubbing staccato rhythms against Mithian's clit, and she came, shuddering and trying to push Morgana's hand away as she became too sensitive. 

"Bien fait," Morgana said, kissing her cheek. "Good job."

* * *

**#41**

**Pairing(s):** Hunith/Will  
 **Warning(s):** age difference

“Oh, God.” Hunith lets her head bang against the cupboard behind her. “Oh my _god_. I’m going to hell.”

Will smiles, bites at the inside of her thigh where the skin’s smooth and warm, drags his cheek over it just to see the redness his stubble leaves over the creamy whiteness. He grabs her arse and tugs her closer to the edge of the counter, then chokes on a breath when she just spreads her legs—easy. 

Under her flimsy dress—something that should never look this hot on anyone’s mother _ever_ —the light’s soft and yellow, the smell of her strong and mouth-watering. 

Will would like to be a fucking gentleman about this—take his time, build up to it—but her fingers push at the back of his head, her hips tilt up, fucking offering her pussy to his mouth with a muttered “come on,” so he just—dives in.

He mouths at her underwear until he can suck her wetness through the fabric. 

Her panties are dark and drenched by the time he shoves them down her legs, still dangling off her left ankle when she drags him back in by his hair, shoves him right where she wants him. 

That’s—That’s Hunith. That’s Merlin’s _mother_. Who let him and Merlin snatch cookies when they were cooling on the counter, right where he has her now spread and wet, pretending she didn’t see them. Who he wanked to when he was a teenager, because she was pretty and young and not like the other mums. Mums who didn’t have a kid at sixteen and thought they were better because of it. Hunith never gave a shit and that was like magic to his overeager dick. Still is apparently. 

It makes him hot all over, cock hard, painful, and straining in his jeans. 

Because he’s eating his best mate’s mom’s pussy, and she’s wet for it—for _him_ , the kid that grew up right alongside her son. 

He pushes his tongue as far as he can inside her—gets all the mess on his nose and chin and, fuck, his cheeks too, fucking _everywhere_. And she pushes back, fucks herself on his mouth, like—like she needs more too, just filthy with it.

And she—Will doesn’t even know—she keeps her hands on the back of his head and grinds on his face, so that all he can do is lick—lick and suck. He’s got his lips tight on her clit and two fingers inside her and she’s moaning while fucking herself on his hand, heels digging in his shoulders.

Wild thoughts flit in his mind, insane thoughts like: _Merlin, mate, your mum’s a bossy lay_ and _Merlin, mate, she’ll just slide in so easy on my cock_ , and _Merlin,_ mate _, I’m gonna make your mum scream my name._

_Your mum._

He groans into her with a shudder that wracks him from head to toes, and she gasps above him, fingers twisting in his hair, foot slipping off with a jolt.

She pulls harshly at his hair, up so she can look at him, with her flushed face and bitten-red lips. Her breasts are out of her dress, all squished together by the tight fabric of the collar she’s pulled down around them, nipples dark and hard. 

It’s the hottest fucking thing Will’s ever seen and that’s counting the moment a few seconds ago where he had a facefull of the most delicious pussy he’s ever tasted—better than all the uni girls Will has spent the last few years fucking—all pink and throbbing. 

 

His lips feel raw. All he can taste is her. He pumps his fingers inside her cunt, thumb on her clit.

“You’re—” she starts, pinches her lips together, and Will wants—he wants to kiss her and bury his face in her glorious breasts, and—

He doesn’t know why he says it, only that there’s still heat along his spine, and something in her eyes, in the way she looks hungry.

“Will,” he says, like she doesn’t know. “Your _son’s_ best friend.”

She whines high in her throat, then throws her head back. Her eyes flutter, her back arches and fuck—she’s coming.

She laughs and moans, hips rolling still, and Will fucking needs to come too, but he can’t take his fingers out of her as she trembles around them.

Hunith peers at him, throat white and long. She smiles and pushes his head with a hand, back between her thighs.

“Fuck yeah,” he says, then makes her shout by giving her oversensitive clit a good suck.

* * *


	3. Group C (warnings)

**#42**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana, Gwen/Arthur, implied Gwen/Merlin and Gwen/OCs  
 **Warning(s):** Bondage, sexual servitude, references to sexual servitude that could be interpreted as a kind of slavery.

Morgana wasted no time when she finally secured an audience with the High Queen. 

“I have a favour to request of your Majesty,” she said as she bowed. 

“No need to be so formal, Morgana,” the queen said, peering at the chessboard she shared with her shieldmaiden. “Make your request.” 

“My girl, Guinevere, is approaching her day of womanhood. I would like to gift her a breed-mate.”

“By all means; you do not need my permission for such a gift.”

“I would like to gift her a breed-mate from the royal stock,” Morgana clarified. Morgause looked up from her game, brow arched. 

“Doesn’t your girl already have a stud to play with?” 

“Do you mean Merlin?” Morgana said. “He was a practice male — she collected him when Annis would have put him out for ill-temperament because my Gwen is soft-hearted. He’s no more than a pet, and unsuitable for a maid in my house. Please, sister. Will you allow it, for me?” 

“Fine.” Morgause waved a hand, uninterested. “We will go in a week’s time.”

~*~

“I cannot accept such a gift,” Gwen said, as Morgana had known she would.

“Nonsense,” Morgana said, stringing pearls in Gwen’s dark hair. She already wore the silk gown Morgana had chosen for her, and patiently accepted her lady’s attentions seated before her dressing table. Merlin lounged between her ankles, letting his mistress comb her fingers through his thick hair. 

The last time Morgana had seen him he’d been snarling curses and thrashing in his bonds, and the change in his demeanour was startling. Gwen’s gentleness could work miracles, Morgana was convinced. 

“This is an important day, kitten. Allow me to give you something fine,” Morgana pleaded, brushing her lips against Gwen’s ear. As always, Gwen flushed and relented.

~*~

The yard intimidated Gwen. Queen Morgause’s studs waited in ordered lines, stripped bare and primed for viewing. Their cocks ranged from the respectable to downright daunting, their skin oiled to best display their musculature. Gwen kept close to Morgana’s side.

“Him,” she finally said, picking one who looked at her with quiet blue eyes. 

“Are you certain, girl?” Queen Morgause said. “Surely you would prefer something more exotic? This is a fine specimen from Essetir.” She flicked a towering male a few paces away with her switch.

“You may have any you desire,” Morgana reminded her, firmly ignoring her sister. 

“Him, please,” Gwen whispered. The queen sighed, muttering about unimaginative country girls and local stock. 

Morgana beamed, gifting her a golden lead to affix to his collar.

~*~

Gwen tied his wrists to the posts of her bed with shaking hands.

“Is this okay?” she asked. “It’s custom for you to be bound until— until we develop a rapport. I do not wish you to be uncomfortable…” Her voice trailed off. Of course a breed-mate from the queen’s yard would already know their custom. 

He flexed his wrists, forearms cording beautifully. “I’m fine, mistress,” he said, eyes half-lidded. His mouth didn’t change, but still she felt sure he was smiling. 

Gwen nodded, swallowing. She couldn’t quite catch her breath. His whole body was hard between her knees, and much larger than Merlin, or any of the practice males she’d sampled. His cock nudged her where she was tender and wet beneath her new gown, reminding her she was surrounded on all sides by proof of her lady’s favour. She shuddered, fumbling in her eagerness to fit his hot prick between her legs. 

His girth made her whimper as she rode him, filling herself hard and fast until he prodded her cunt into its first shocking roll of pleasure. She did it again, dragging her nails down his chest, and again, digging frantic and indelicate for her release while he panted, eyes urgent and so blue. 

She let him spend tucked tight inside her while her thighs quaked around his hips.

~*~

“Gwen!” Morgana turned at the sound of her door closing, setting her book aside. “Did you enjoy yourself? Come here,” she beckoned, surprised to feel a tremble in Gwen’s legs when she touched them.

Quickly reaching up beneath her skirt, Morgana sank four fingers inside her up to the knuckle, making her gasp. 

“ _Morgana_ ,” she groaned, forgetting herself. 

“Oh,” Morgana said, mouth falling open. “Oh love, you’re so wet. You chose so well, good girl,” she said, steadily pressing deeper until Gwen took the whole of her fist and came, sobbing desperately against her shoulder.

* * *

**#43**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** none

Gwen finds a quiet spot in the corner where the cafe looks more like a library or a bookstore. There's just enough room in her seat to sit comfortably cross-legged and the fairy lights strung up around the room soften the harsh corners. The music from the used records and other sundries section of the shop is loud enough to contribute to the ambient noise in the cafe and Gwen happily pulls a notebook and two pens from her messenger bag. 

Before she can start writing, the tread of boots sound on the wooden steps that lead to her corner and Gwen can't help but smile. 

"Hello, lovely." Morgana places a mug and dish at Gwen's elbow. "You're looking very writerly today. I think it's the frothy scarf."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment and say thank you. For this, too," she adds and nods at the tea. "Can you finish early?"

Morgana fingers the edge of Gwen's scarf, then touches her hair, brief and soft and intimate. "I have about an hour to go, then I'm yours."

Three cups of tea, one plate of assorted biscuits, and two Dylan records later, Gwen has four pages of ideas mapped out for her latest project. Morgana's presence is a hum at the back of her thoughts, a quick press of a hand to her shoulder, a shared smile over the bergamot-scented steam of her refilled mug. 

By the end of the hour, the hum has become a soft pulse of need. Gwen packs up her bag, brings her dishes to the front of the cafe, and rests a hand at the small of Morgana's back. 

"Back to yours?" Morgana's hair's tied up in a messy bun and she's rolled the sleeves of her black button-up shirt to her elbows. Only Morgana can pull this off quite right--her hair mussed, her shirt two sizes too big, a frayed rip at the knee of her skinny jeans--and look polished.

_Wild civility_ , Gwen thinks, touches her tongue to her lips at the sight of the dark tendrils against fair skin, and says, "Yes." 

And again, "Yes," when she can finally shut the door of her flat and press her face to the back of Morgana's neck.

Morgana sighs, low and sweet at the back of her throat. It's been two weeks since Gwen's heard that sound, two weeks since they've found time to be this: together, alone. 

Gwen's lips move from the soft tendrils at the nape of Morgana's neck to just behind her ear, where she breathes lightly to pull another deep sigh from Morgana. They're quiet and still for a moment, so close that Gwen can feel the beat of Morgana's heart against her body.

Gwen waits until she has Morgana's bare shoulders and breasts in front of her, then she pulls the clip from her hair. She loves this moment--the scent of tea and coffee and books and patchouli-vanilla perfume oil on Morgana's skin, her long, dark hair curling around her breasts and tickling the tips of her tight, pink nipples. Gwen cups her hands around Morgana's breasts, brushes her thumbs over her nipples until she knows from Morgana's short, sharp breaths that she's wet and needy. 

Her own longing is a shivering, desperate sensation, the uncontrollable desire to be touched and filled. Gwen grabs Morgana's hand, guides it between her thighs, and rubs herself against the firm press of Morgana's thumb to the seam of her jeans. 

"Here," she says, voice high with need, "now, just..."

Morgana smiles again, and there's some fumbling with buttons and zippers and Gwen thinks maybe they ought to find the bedroom or the floor, but then there's the slide of warm fingers into her jeans and--

\--and _oh_. Oh, god, there's not time for anything else but this, the rise of her breath and scent of Morgana's hair in her face and the pounding of blood through her body. Morgana touches her just right, not gently or carefully, but firm and almost rough, and there is a wildness between them, one they catch and control only with fretted whispers and jagged kisses. 

Gwen comes fast and hard, biting kisses against Morgana's lips. Afterwards, she kisses her more tenderly, whispering broken lines of poetry against the corner of her mouth and the curve of her collarbone. 

She kisses Morgana like she can erase the time they spend apart and alone.

* * *

**#44**

**Pairing(s):** Elena/Vivian  
 **Warning(s):** Implications of infidelity

Elena had always been a collector. When she was a kid she used to collect comics; when she got older she collected sports memorabilia; and now she collected cunts.

“Is it okay if I take pictures?”

She already had a hand curled around her phone. Vivian looked down at her, flushed pink, her hair falling out of its bun in trailing strands. “Seriously? You weirdo.”

“It’s not like I share them.” She was very careful. She had a special password-protected folder and everything. “No faces, and they’ll go straight onto my computer.”

Vivian rolled her eyes in an exaggerated display of reluctance. “ _Fine_.” 

She flopped back on the bed, head against her floral-printed pillows, and spread her legs. Elena settled between them, thumbing open the camera. She didn’t always take pictures, but Vivian just had such a pretty pussy. All pink and perfect, shaved ever so neatly – everything about Vivian was so neat and tidy – whorled like a special, secret fingerprint between her legs. 

Elena snapped a couple of pictures of it, turning the flash on to capture the glisten of wetness, then touched her, spreading her apart, exposing her hot dark-pink cunt. She took a picture, and another.

“Are you _quite_ finished?” Vivian was inspecting her nails, feigning boredness. As if she wasn’t enjoying the attention. Vivian loved having her picture taken.

“Almost.” Elena pushed her fingers deeper, sliding them up inside Vivian, making her gasp; and she took a picture of Vivian like that, her tight pussy spread wide about Elena’s stubby fingers.

Vivian said, “you’re done.” She pried Elena’s phone out of her unresisting fingers and tossed it down her king-sized bed. She rolled Elena over and straddled her, her tits bouncing against her chest as she moved. “And if you share those pictures with anyone, I will ruin you.”

She could, as well. Vivian’s dad was in the House of Lords. If she put her mind to it, Elena was sure Vivian could ruin any future career she might have. “Noted.” She spread her own legs, tangling them about Vivian’s.

“Lube,” said Vivian breathily.

(She swore that she hadn’t done more than kiss a girl until that evening; swore that Elena was the first girl she’d ever fucked. But Elena had known it was a lie even before Vivian was licking her pussy with a kind of precision that would only come with practice.)

The lube was on Vivian’s nightstand, next to a lamp with a shade that matched her bedsheets and a photo of her with – was that her boyfriend? Elena hadn’t asked and wasn’t going to. She uncapped the bottle and drizzled lube between her legs, wincing at the coldness. 

Vivian was arranging herself, leaning backwards, her hands flat on the bed. Elena had barely got the cap back on the bottle when Vivian was pressing her smooth, shaved pussy up against hers.

For all the girls she fucked, she didn’t do this very often – because logistics, and because Elena’s type of girl tended to be more into receiving oral than anything else. But here they were, Vivian grinding her cunt against Elena’s like she’d done it a hundred times, and Elena could hardly breathe. The room was full of the wet, lewd sounds of their bodies moving together, and Vivian’s gasping breaths; and it was making her head spin.

Vivian said, “ _yes_ , that’s nice,” and she shifted, shifted so that she was grinding right up against Elena’s clit, so that Elena cried out, clenching her fingers against Vivian’s duvet, screwing the cloth into balls in her fists.

She was so wet she was dripping. She felt liquid streaking hot down her thigh, and the sensation was enough to tip her over the edge. She came, her eyes tight shut, her cunt clenching and unclenching, thrumming with it.

When she opened her eyes, Vivian’s head was tossed back, and she was gasping, gasping, as she came, her cunt pressed raw and hot against Elena’s.

They sat a moment, their pussies still touching lightly, throbbing; and then Vivian disentangled herself and reached for Elena’s phone. Ignoring Elena’s protests – she hated people looking at her pictures – she thumbed open the gallery and scrolled through the pictures of her own cunt. “These are pretty,” she remarked, as if she was looking at photos of, like, flowers, or paintings in an art gallery. “I like this one.” She tossed Elena her phone, a photo on the screen of Elena’s fingers buried to the knuckle in Vivian’s cunt.

* * *

**#45**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** The fic might be interpreted as describing stalkerish behaviour or dub-con.

Arthur and Morgana are dancing. They circle each other with slow and studied steps, their left hands raised and clasped. 

Morgana's ruby silk dress shimmers.

Step, step, turn. Step, step, turn. They are a very handsome couple.

Suddenly Morgana reaches for Merlin, gesturing for him to join her in the dance. Her smile is happy and carefree.

Merlin pulls back. He looks to the dais. Arthur and Uther are sitting there, staring straight ahead, their faces impassive. 

He cowers against the wall. 

Morgana's dress is suddenly dark as night, storm-ravaged. Her eyes pierce him and pin him down as she throws her hands in the air, her tattered sleeves transforming into a flock of starlings that take flight in a rush.

Merlin hurries to the window. Without hesitation he throws himself into the air to follow the departing birds. 

He speeds on with all the strength that his sleek falcon's body allows, but he feels frozen in mid-air, his wings beating ineffectually.

There's a black swan approaching. It has fiery eyes and wears a golden coronet. The swan plunges towards Merlin with an agonized, furious scream. 

He drops from the sky. 

He is falling, falling...

He stands on a cobbled street. The houses have windowless walls. He starts walking. “This is Ealdor,” he thinks. “I'm home.” 

The blind walls seem forbidding. The streets are empty. Bewildered, he looks around, searching for clues. 

Morgana stands right behind him, wrapped in a Pendragon-red cloak. She is barefoot. Her long hair hangs loose. 

She squints. “Are you the one?” 

He reaches for the edge of her cloak. “I might be.” 

She starts twirling down the street. He doesn't let go of the cloak. The fabric stretches out between them, a river of crimson as Morgana spins away from him. 

Just when Merlin knows that the cloak will never end, it ends. 

Morgana stands nude on the cold cobblestones, holding herself proudly. She is beautiful. Her skin is the palest pink, the colour of the castle garden's honeysuckles and roses. Her firm breasts, the curves of her hips, her dark triangle of pubic hair captivate him. 

His cock responds eagerly. 

Suddenly he realizes that he's naked too. With a mortified yelp he covers himself with his hands and crouches down, blushing furiously. 

Morgana shrugs and leaves without a backwards glance. 

He follows her at a distance. She walks past a sombre forest and enters a ring of standing stones. Surrounded by the tall jutting rocks, she lies down in the lush grass, her body striped by long shadows. 

Merlin moves forward cautiously. His heart is racing. 

He's fully erect.

He's frightened.

His eyes meet hers, bright and clear. Kneeling by her side, he caresses her shoulder and lets his palm slide along her arm, across her hip, down her thigh. Her skin is smooth and soft. She relaxes under his hands and sighs in pleasure. Her legs fall wide open in sensual invitation.

He needs to touch and see. He wants to smell and taste. Her secret flesh is a heady shade of red; the colour of his cock. She's juicy as a ripe apple under his tongue, sweet as strawberries. He licks and suckles at her core, parting the folds of skin to reach within. Morgana arches under him, laughing in delight. 

Merlin's on the brink.

A rose petal swirls through the air. Another follows.

It's suddenly raining petals, hot pink and red and coral, - some even the dusky colour of dried blood. There's a strong, sweet scent in the air.

Morgana playfully scoops petals across herself and into Merlin's lap. 

The rose rain continues, relentless. Merlin's suffocating, he's drowning in beautiful and dangerous scarlet. He can't breathe, he's gasping for air, he's.....

He sits up in bed with a jolt, his heart thudding loudly in the dark.

* * * 

Early the next day he knocks on Lady Morgana's chamber door with hope and apprehension. It's like diving into a dark, deep lake; the unknown waits beneath the surface.

There are black circles under Morgana's eyes. 

“I am tired of being afraid,” Merlin tells her. “Help me overcome my deepest fear, and I will help you with yours.”

He opens his hand to reveal a bright blue flame, dancing on his palm. 

Morgana blinks. She observes the proof of his magic in silence, her expression unreadable. 

Merlin waits. 

Then she leans in to press her lips to his. The kiss is warm, knowing and sure. She smiles. 

“Yes.”

* * *

**#46**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana, of a sort  
 **Warning(s):** Trans* and Genderbent characters

She slowly unzips her partner's jeans, helps tug them down those long legs, and leans back when ze pulls them over zir ankles. Ze's wearing black briefs with the Batman logo, and she giggles before laying a kiss right under the black and yellow insignia.

-

“What are your pronouns?”

“I'm gender-neutral, ze/zir. You?”

“She/her. Nice to meet you, Morgan.”

“And you, Gwen.”

-

“I was really hoping to have sex with you tonight,” Morgan said.

“Oh! Me too,” Gwen agreed, “but, um, how do you get off?”

Morgan grinned like a cat with both cream and mouse. “I have partner checklists.”

Gwen looked them over with widening eyes. “These are... extensive.”

-

They get as undressed as they want to be: Morgan in zir binder and dog tags, and Gwen in her lacy panties and a tattoo on her hip.

“... kiss me.”

-

“I never take off my shirt except to shower,” Morgan said.

“So where can I touch, and how?” Gwen asked.

-

Morgan kisses her into the pillows, black fingernails tugging on her hair. Ze spreads zir legs wide to straddle Gwen, to hold her down and bite her lip, to tug on Gwen's hair and kiss zir way from jaw to collarbone. When Gwen moans and arches her back- please, please, touch my nipples- Morgan tugs her hair to expose her sensitive ears, and sucks at those instead.

-

“Major erogenous zones?” asked Morgan.

“My nipples are really sensitive.”

“So are my feet, and my clit.”

“Okay,” said Gwen. “What do you call your various parts?”

Morgan gestured chestward. “This is just my chest. No special word. But this,” and now ze gestured between zir legs, “is my cunt. The rest gets scientific names. Perineum, anus, whatever. I don't like euphemisms.”

“Good to know,” Gwen said, nodding.

“And you?”

“Well, I don't really... call my stuff anything. Well, I call it my stuff. Or my junk. But I don't want you to touch it during sex. Sometimes I do, but I can get off just from my tits, or neck, or fingers,” Gwen said, and a flush rose as she spoke. “Right, yes. So I call these my tits or breasts, but you can call them anything short of bazongas and that's fine...”

“Bazongas?” Morgan laughed, and Gwen couldn't help but join zir.

“You know! People have the silliest names, and frankly bazongas implies a size I don't actually have, without the breast forms on.”

“Okay, no bazongas,” Morgan said, “and waist off-limits. Anything else?”

“I don't think so,” Gwen said. “What's next on this checklist?”

“Take a look,” Morgan prompted.

“... Kinks! Morgan, must we right now?”

“Oh, we really must.”

“Could we start vanilla, and pull out the handcuffs later? Because I'm pretty vanilla anyways, and I love a good cuddle as much as a wild shag.”

Morgan eyed her, and nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

“So please... kiss me.”

-

Gwen starts with one foot. Her tongue presses between two black-painted toes and they curl in response, but Gwen has one hand wrapped around zir ankle. She nips Morgan's toe. It's not a punishment. Her strong fingers massage the bones of zir ankle, the muscles of zir foot, the beginning of zir calf, and she can feel Morgan melting into the sofa. She starts laying kisses in the arch of Morgan's foot, up the inside of zir leg, up to the back of zir leg until she has one leg bent over her shoulder.

She can feel Morgan's pulse pick up under her tongue as she licks and sucks at the pale skin. She knows that Morgan's cunt- the place ze's named as ze wishes- would be wet if she chose to feel it, but... as Gwen takes her sweet time to spread Morgan's legs and kiss her way up, the most arousing thought is how lucky she is.

How lucky to have found someone who has fought for a pronoun and a body that is zir own from buzzed hair to bound chest to defiant voice. How lucky Gwen is to have found someone who will, maybe, love her the same way. Maybe.

She takes that joy, that gratitude, that arousal and desire, and finally, finally, buries herself in Morgan's cunt. And it is beautiful.

* * *

**#47**

**Pairing(s):** Gwaine/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** Major Character Death.  
Inspired by the poem/song The Highwayman.

Gwaine hissed as Merlin’s blunt teeth bit into the flesh around his collar bone. He couldn't see Merlin’s face fully from the light of the one small candle, but he didn't need to. His pale skin would be flushed and sweaty, and his eyes would burn with more than just magic.

"One last kiss for luck. I am after a prize tonight." 

Merlin drew him deeply into his lips. "Come back to me, with the speed of Hell if you must."

"Look for me under the moonlight. The silver of my sword will shine safe return." Gwaine pressed his lips on Merlin's forehead before leaving him in their stable rendezvous place. There was gold to be had, and his love to return to. 

***

A sense of dread hit Gwaine to his bones. His prize was won, but red-cloaked knights clogged the roads so thick it looked like blood moving across the ground. 

It took slow timing, but Gwaine made it to Merlin, only to find the Inn crawling with Uther's knights.

***  
It wasn't Gwaine that entered the inn, when the moonlight lighted the earth with it's silver glow, but knights wearing the crimson capes of Camelot. 

And they were looking for him. Merlin knew it when a knight's eyes glinted and he gave a smile full of broken teeth. "Well, lookie here, men. The paramour of the dirty dog we are hunting."

Merlin didn't get far in his attempt to escape. His arms were seized before he took four steps. "Bind the whore!"

Tied to a chair, Merlin tried to break his bonds with strength or magic. Neither worked. The knights must have come prepared for magical prisoners.

Even though the king’s men made themselves freely associated with the ale, there was always a guard, armed with a crossbow, watching Merlin. 

"So, tell me. Do you think your lover will come for you?" one of the guards asked him. Merlin didn't respond to him, but looked out the window stubbornly.

"Because we are hoping he will."

***

The logical thing would be to stay where he was and wait until the patrol left. And hope that he could see a glimpse of Merlin to settle his worry.

But Gwaine was never logical. And as far as he knew, Merlin was trapped inside.

Raising his sword, the moon flashed silver off the blade. 

***

Merlin saw it, a quick flash of light, and he knew with a sinking, heavy dread in his stomach that Gwaine was outside.

Pulling on the ropes, Merlin screamed out, "Run, Gwaine!" before he heard a _twang_. 

Merlin never felt the bolt pierce his heart. 

*** 

Gwaine heard Merlin's cry for him to run right before the inn door burst open and knights ran out, swords drawn. But it didn't matter if there was one or a hundred men; all Gwaine saw was Merlin's body on the floor, blood soaking his white shirt. 

Anger swamped Gwaine, turning the dutiful knight into a savage. Sword raised, he raced from his hiding spot, determined only to make the knights bleed as Merlin did.

The first two went down so quickly he barely registered their presence. Turning to face a third, Gwaine met with a crossbow, not a sword, and he realized his mistake before the bolt buried deep in his gut.

Gwaine fell in the dirt yard, blood coating his hand. A few of the men were laughing, talking about how he went down like a rabid dog, but Gwaine’s eyes locked onto Merlin's lifeless ones.

"We'll meet under the moonlight, my love."

* * *

**#48**

**Pairing(s)** : Merlin/ Arthur  
 **Warning(s)** : Genderswapped Merlin

“Stand and Deliver!”

There were few who’d dare to challenge the supremacy of the Pendragon name so Arthur could forgive himself for not realising what was happening until it was too late.

“Stand and deliver! Your money or your life!” the voice cried out again, a note of agitation present.

And yet he should have realised something like this would have happened. All the ridiculous things in life happened to him after all. Nothing like this ever happened to _Morgana_.

Arthur remained silent, reaching for the sword inside his coach box. He supposed he should be glad there was only one highwayman but, really, how was only one a challenge to a man of his skill? He was almost insulted.

Arthur positioned himself by the door in preparation of attack; the moment the blackguard would try to enter Arthur would bludgeon him back to his formative years.  
And yet no attack came.

Frustrated with the silence, and as a man born with little patience, Arthur was the first to break the stalemate.

“Hark scoundrel! How goes my man?”

A voice replied from the darkness with much amusement.

“Your man, my lady? He yet still lives. For how much longer I am uncertain though, if you do not disembark and face me. It’s wholly possible you may yet be driving your own coach home.”

Arthur swore vigorously, ignoring the snort of laughter from his unwanted companion that followed in its wake.

Arthur could not leave the poor driver to such a fate.

Silently Arthur checked his daggers were all in place before trying his best to hide the sword beneath his coat tails; one could never underestimate the element of surprise.

He gripped the door handle hard before forcing it open with much pomp and ceremony.

“I am no lady, blackguard,” Arthur called out to figure illuminated by the coaches lamps. He was quite skinny for a bandit really, his face hidden beneath an ugly neckerchief and hair covered by a hat an unfortunate shade of green. 

“I am THE Lord Pendragon and you will address me as such.” 

“My mistake _My Lord_ ,” the highwayman returned, words filled with so much sarcasm and scorn that Arthur felt he’d never been so insulted in his life- even by Morgana who often compared unfavourably to fleas.

The scoundrels eyes, the only defining feature of him still visible, glowed with mischievous intent. “But your demeanour was so delicate that I felt certain you must be a lady.”

Arthur scowled and flung a dagger, just missing his target.

“We don’t have to fight,” the bandit continued, “Just hand over your money and we may both be on our way.”

“Oh we’re definitely going to fight,” Arthur declared, “And I warn you boy-- I’ve been trained to kill since birth.”

Arthur charged recklessly, brandishing his sword from his sheath as the bandit met him with his own attack. 

Slowly they danced together until Arthur swung and knocked off the bandits unfortunate hat revealing masses of dark tresses underneath.

“You’re a woman!”

“Yes, now hand over your purse.”

Arthur finally took his eyes off her face only to notice the pistol in her hands.

“That’s cheating,” Arthur said darkly. There was nothing honourable about bringing a pistol into a sword fight.

“To be fair I am a highwayman, so you ought to have expect something like this,” The woman insisted. “Also, I like to have the element of surprise if I need it.”

Arthur scowled.

“You know Lord Pendragon, I quite like you,” she said pressing her body against his own, one hand moving in slow caress from his lips to his shoulders to his thigh, while the other remained true with a gun at his heart.

“My name is Arthur,” he grits out, studiously avoiding her gaze. She was beautiful in an odd ethereal way and he could feel his body reacting to her presence.

“If we had met under different circumstances, Arthur, I like to think I would have let you take me,” she looked at him contemplatively. “I would have ridden you like I ride my horse on a summers day, slowly at first then hard all at once until I get my satisfaction. My cunt would be sapping with you and you would shout my name to the heavens while I shake with our pleasure.”

Slowly her wandering hand gripped his erection before she stepped back with a sigh.

“Sadly though, this time I’ll just snatch your purse,” she said, Arthur's coin bag in her hand. “Mayhap next time I’ll snatch your heart.”

* * *

**#49**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Morgana, Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** dubcon, some violence, half-sibling incest, references to underage

Morgana saw the rocks tumbling down, cutting off Arthur's anguished scream, and knew she would finally have her perfect revenge. She had taken everything else from him: his kingdom, his bride and his father. She'd soiled his innocence, bruised his pride and battered his self-confidence, but nothing – _nothing_ – had truly broken Arthur. Taking Merlin from him would. 

She could have just killed the boy, leave him like a broken toy for Arthur to find, but no. She wanted to savour this, still wanted more, the same thing she'd always wanted. 

_Arthur is thirteen, gangly and awkward like an ugly duckling, and she presses a kiss to his temple, the only one who gives him the affection he craves like his next breath._

''I didn't want to poison you,'' Merlin whispered, hanging from his wrists where rough rope tore into his skin. ''I had no choice.''

She knew that, knew how magic worked now, but that wasn't the reason she hated him. He had taken what was hers. That he had never realised it only added insult to injury. She wanted to hurt him, but she wanted to make Arthur watch even more. 

_Arthur is fourteen and growing up, training and trying to satisfy all the expectations weighing on his shoulders, and always, always he's looking at her for reassurance._

Arthur came for Merlin like he never came for her. The King of Camelot himself, searching for a lowly servant. She led him in circles, revelling in his fear and desperation before lifting the glamour so he could find her. 

When he stepped inside with his sword drawn, she was ready, pressed against Merlin's back with a dagger at the boy's throat – the same dagger Arthur had given her as a present once. The shock and dismay painted on his face was beautiful, but it wasn't her he was looking at. 

''Arthur,'' she drawled. ''You're just in time for the show. How do you like my new pet?''

The blade of the dagger let dark drops of blood well up on its path down Merlin's chest and when the boy hissed through his teeth, Arthur's eyes, blazing with fury now, were finally on her.

_Arthur is fifteen and so eager to please when she guides his hand to her chest and shows him how to touch her just right._

''Let him go, Morgana. This is our fight. He's got nothing to do with it. He's just a servant.''

Morgana laughed derisively. ''Oh, I think we both know that he is so much more than that, Arthur.''

With a malicious little smile she let her hand glide down between Merlin's legs, grabbing his groin and squeezing harshly, her nails digging into his balls. 

''Isn't he a delicious little morsel? If you don't use him, why shouldn't I have some fun with him?''

''What do you want?'' Arthur growled. 

Morgana raised her eyebrows. ''Funny that you should ask...'' 

She made Merlin watch this time. Made him watch as his king went down on his knees and let her tie his hands behind his back. Then she lifted her skirts and spreads her legs. 

''Come, Arthur,'' she whispered. ''You know how this works, don't you? I've trained you well, after all.''

_Arthur is sixteen and sucking her cunt like he was born to do it, lapping at her juices until she breaks apart._

She smirked at Merlin's shocked face, at the pain in his eyes that had nothing to do with his chafed wrists and cut chest. 

And Arthur complied. Kneeling between her legs, he bent forward and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh. He let his mouth travel up further, finding her wet folds and licking her open with long, slow strokes of his tongue. She closed her eyes when he found her pleasure spot and sucked it hard, making her shudder and roughly grip his hair. This was how it should always have been.

_Arthur is seventeen and his eyes are drawn away from her, following a scrawny boy with too large ears instead._

She clamped her thighs around him, riding his face and rubbing her juices all over him as she came with an angry, desperate moan. 

For a moment the glory of completion was all there was, then the world pulled her back. 

''You were supposed to be mine,'' she snarled, shoving Arthur to the floor.

_Arthur is eighteen and so in love he has no idea what to do, or what he wouldn't do, and Morgana will never forgive him for this._

* * *

**#50**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin, background implied Gwen/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** Major Character death, always-a-girl!AU, magical girl!AU, Puella Magi Madoka Magica fusion. 

Artoria wakes panting and clammy, her night gown wet and panties damp between her legs. The fragments of the dream flee before the breaking of the sun. She sighs, incomplete and unfulfilled in ways she doesn't understand.

-

The new girl is tall and pale, with piercing blue eyes, and cheekbones to kill for. 

Artoria finds her amazingly cool and mysterious. She expects Merlin to come in and win everyone over with easy charm or sharp smiles and she gets neither. Merlin, it seems is less mysterious and more reclusive, preferring to stay in her corner and talk only when called upon. 

Artoria catches her staring a few times; Merlin's gaze is a powerful thing, burning into her soul. Sometimes, she thinks she knows those blue eyes, the same way she knows the summer sun browning her skin and green grass tickling her toes and the heat of a crackling fire warming her fingers. It feels like magic.

-

The dragon accosts her, Gwen, and Morgana after school. It's wounded and fleeing, but it slows when it spots the girls, and approaches without hesitation. 

"Hello," the dragon says. Artoria calls it a dragon, because that's all it can possibly be, despite what her mind is telling her. "Do you have a wish?"

Morgana's the first to recover, her eyes narrowing as she studies the creature. Artoria watches her, a shiver running down her spine. It's the middle of spring, but the air feels cold. 

"A wish?" Morgana repeats, but the creature can't reply, because Merlin rounds the corner, yelling something in a foreign tongue. She's in a black and purple dress, short enough to make her long legs seem endless, and she flings her hand out, eyes glowing golden as she repeats her words. It's an order and Artoria, despite not understanding, feels something tug at her core. 

The dragon hisses but flies off. 

-

"It's magic," Morgana says, the next morning. 

"What do you mean?" Gwen cries, twisting her hands together. Artoria looks at Gwen, her stomach sinking. This won't be good.

"You get a wish," Morgana repeats, "and in exchange, you fight. It's perfect."

There's a maniacal gleam in Morgana's eye and an ethereal beauty to her features, and she's never been more beautiful or more fragile. 

-

Gwen cries and cries, clutching Morgana to her as Morgana's life drains away and Merlin fights the witch. Artoria watches from the side, horror and awe in her chest as she watches. 

"You can help her," Aithusa says, approaching on silent paws and startling Artoria. "Fight by her side, help her win this."

Merlin screams at Aithusa in those same foreign words from yesterday, and Aithusa disappears, but not before hissing, "Remember, Artoria Pendragon. You can help."

"Don't listen to her," Merlin warns, the words harsh and heavy. Artoria can hear the desperation behind them, filled with enough sorrow that Artoria wants to cry. 

-

"They want magic," Merlin tells her, later that night. They've known each other two days, but it feels more like a lifetime. She curls into Merlin just right, the unfulfilled parts of her suddenly whole, and they move together in perfect harmony. She knows the way Merlin trembles beneath her, arches up and cries against her breast, knows the way she tastes when she slides down and finds Merlin sweet, hot center. It feels like an ending and a beginning, and she clings tightly, hard enough to bruise. 

Merlin's cry of completion is achingly familiar and it stirs Artoria in return. It takes only Merlin's breath against her clit, slender fingers inside her to take her over the edge. 

"They want magic," Merlin repeats, when they're sated and curled up together. "They seek girls with potential. Their death releases magic, and it's that they want."

"The fights?" 

"Where do you think the witches come from?" 

Artoria shudders, thinking about the fight earlier, the witch Merlin killed, and Morgana, in green and black, prostrate in Gwen's arms. 

-

"You can help," Aithusa whispers. "You can save Merlin."

Artoria watches, helpless and aching, as Merlin falls back and struggles to get up, winded and wounded. One of these falls will be the end of her.

"Make a wish to save your friend," Aithusa says, "and you can stop this."

Artoria draws in a sharp breath, knowledge blooming in her chest. She can end this altogether.

"I wish," she begins, as Merlin falls once more. She doesn't get back up. "I wish for magic to exist again."

* * *

**#51**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** genderswap

“You’re a woman.” Gaius said, stating the obvious. 

Merlin was too frustrated to answer. He fell back into the pile of soft pillows on Arthur’s bed, no longer caring that Gaius now knew that this was where he spent his nights. 

He’d _just_ been enjoying a nice dream about Arthur sucking him off, all hot and wet. When he'd reached out to stroke his cock and found it… gone! His screams had woken up Arthur and when the king’s eyes lingered on his chest he realized he’d also grown a pair of breasts overnight. 

“It’s obviously magic,” Arthur stated, “We just need to find a spell or potion to reverse it, right?” 

“It is magic,” Gaius confirmed, “But why? Who would benefit from turning Merlin into… a female?”

“I don’t care why, just fix it. Now!” Merlin was no longer staying calm about this. 

“I don’t know any spells to switch gender. It must have been something powerful.” Gaius proceeded by running tests and asking a million questions. Were there any newcomers in the castle? Did Merlin eat food that wasn’t prepared in the palace kitchens? Any gifts they received?

Suddenly Arthur paled. “I did receive a gift, from Queen Annis... A wooden statuette. She wrote me a letter.” 

Arthur went over to his writing table, nervously looking for the letter in a large pile of papers. Merlin never did get around to sorting Arthur’s mail. 

"She thanked me for our collaboration during the harsh winter. “ Arthur said, scanning the document he’d recovered, “Said she hoped to hear about the birth of a son to continue my legacy. The statuette, a Venus figurine from the great kingdom of Moravia, is said to bring fertility and prosperity.”

Arthur looked up. “I thought she was talking about crops…”

Gaius inspected the statuette after Arthur fetched it. “Sire, does Queen Annis know that you… no longer share living quarters with Queen Guinevere?” 

Gwen had already been staying with Lancelot for over a year. But only those close to the king were really aware of the fact.

Gaius inspected the engravings in the dark wood. “She probably didn’t realize how powerful this is,” he muttered. “There is deep magic inside of it.”

“Wait,” Merlin started, “I have been turned into a woman… by an inanimate piece of wood?”

After a long day of staying hidden, worrying about the implications of the magical figurine, Merlin was relieved when Arthur crawled into bed with him that evening. When he reached out to touch, Merlin tensed at first, at the unfamiliar feeling of familiar hands touching his breasts, nipples even more sensitive than they already were. 

“You helped me become the king I am today, Merlin,” Arthur said softly. “It makes sense you are the one to carry my future as well.”

“Once and future King,” Merlin sighed, echoing the prophecy. He never could have imagined _this_.

“We don’t have to… If you don’t want to…” Arthur stumbled over his words. They really hadn’t discussed this properly.

“Well I sure as hell am not going the rest of my life without sex!” 

Arthur was a good lover. They had been together for such a long time that Merlin had taken for granted how well Arthur knew what he liked, how well Arthur knew his body. Now everything was awkward again. Though it was definitely interesting to discover all the new ways in which he could be touched and kissed, he didn't quite manage to get the friction or the stimulation he wanted. 

He was very fond of Arthur's fingers but as they explored his new vagina he couldn't help a little frustrated sigh.

"Arthur, you’ve pleasured women before, right? Can't you do it right?"

Merlin almost felt guilty watching Arthur turn scarlet.

"Shall I fuck you properly then?"

Merlin nodded eagerly. 

Arthur still held back too much, their rhythm was off but it was pleasant for both of them, in more ways than one.

When he felt Arthur was close, his eyes fell on the statuette on the bedside table. Merlin knew the magic was right there with them. Moaning loudly he welcomed the feeling of Arthur's seed inside of him.

"I may be pregnant now but you still have nine months to get better at this," Merlin said afterwards. "If not, I'm going to take out all my sexual frustration on your arse the day I have my cock back."

"That promise or a threat," Arthur grinned. When he kissed Merlin, one hand travelled to rest on his belly.

* * *

**#52**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** Dub-con/ fuck or die/ hurt and comfort/ angst 

“Sire! We found him at the back!” Leon says and pulls the skinny figure up. 

“What happened to this one?” Arthur asks. He heart sinks as he scans the boy’s glazed blue eyes and shaking limbs. Has he failed yet another of his people? 

Leon grimaces, “Sometimes the brothels use herbs to ensure they can, er, keep performing for clients. Giaus gave us something to help with this.” 

Anger mingled with regret washes over Arthur. They weren’t able to storm this area earlier. It’s not in Camelot’s but many of those kidnapped are from Camelot. 

“Unshackle him and do it in the side room,”Arthur says. 

Except that nothing goes according to plan. 

When Arthur goes into the side room, the boy snatches his arm and won’t let go. Arthur doesn’t have the heart to shake him off. “Fine, I’ll handle him, you clear the rest of the place,” Arthur tells Leon. 

When Arthur tries to feed him Giaus’ potion, the boy’s eyes glow golden and the glass smashes to the floor. “What did you go and do that for?” Arthur shouts, before realising what just happened. How is it he can feel the boy’s hands burning on his shoulders even through his chain mail? 

“Please,” the boy says.”That won’t help. By now, only…” 

Arthur watches in shocked disbelief when the boy’s engorged cock comes into view, red and angry and weeping, just as the boy is also weeping, tears of frustration and rage and helplessness. Arthur feels his own face screw up too, but reminds himself he’s the Crown Prince, he’s not here to cry over random young boys- young sorcerers- snatched from their home. 

So Arthur doesn’t cry, he does not. Water doesn’t trickle from his eyes and make their way down his cheeks as he gulps and lays the boy gently and shushes him, and tells him he’s sorry, he’ll do what needs to be done. Arthur brushes his lips gently to the boy’s forehead, cheekbones, lips - just to calm him, that’s all. 

Desperate keening sounds pierce Arthur’s gut when he wraps his hands around the boy’s dick. It’s unnaturally turgid and Arthur surveys it as clinically as he might examine a battle plan map. He kneads and pulls, hesitantly as first, forcing himself not to flinch away from the task at hand. 

The boy first moans, then cries out, then shouts in time to Arthur’s tugs. Arthur steels his heart, “It’ll be better, I promise,” he says, but he can barely hear himself. 

Finally it’s done. The dick twitches and a little bit of cum spills out. To Arthur’s relief, it softens to a more normal state. 

The boy lets out a final wail and slumps to the floor. 

Arthur grimly cleans up, dresses the boy and stands to go. 

“Please…” the boy says. 

Arthur sighs. “Fine,” he says. Although he has countless other victims to attend to, he Sweeps the lanky thing up in his arms, hefting the dead weight with some effort. 

Arthur imagines the boy nuzzles him as they struggle out of the whore house. Leon looks at the pair of them but doesn’t say anything.

* * *

**#53**

**Pairing(s):** Morgana/?  
 **Warning(s):** Noncon/dubcon (could be read either way)

Burying his face between her parted legs, he attacked her most intimate flesh with passionate fervor. Morgana screamed as she felt his tongue invade her body, snaking inside then darting back and forth with teasing little jabs. Screams became whimpers as he devoured her, licking and sucking her clit, taking the hard nub in his teeth, tugging and twisting gently, slurping up her juices as she shook with orgasm after orgasm. Each time she came he chuckled and lapped up the sweet cream of her helpless pleasure. Tears trickled from her eyes as her belly tightened in unending waves of shaming ecstasy. She didn’t know how many times he made her cum before he finally pulled away from her sensitized flesh. She lay limply on the bed, stunned and staring at the man who’d taken control of her body.

“You see now, don’t you Morgana? How you need me? How you were made for me?”

It was the same, night after night for weeks. He invaded her dreams, and when she woke exhausted in the morning, she couldn’t be sure if what she remembered was real or nightmare.

He claimed he was her future, her destiny, the other half of her soul.

She didn’t answer, instead turning her head to stare sightlessly at the wall. She felt fingers on her chin and looked up, flinching at the sight of the enormous erection rising against his belly.

“Answer me. You need this, don’t you? Your body recognizes what your soul knows. Let me in; open your heart and mind. You are mine…as I am yours.”

Shaking her head, she refused to meet his eyes, ashamed because though his words were true, she couldn’t bear to admit it. Her body might want him, but he couldn’t _make_ her mind accept him. He couldn’t have her heart.

Soft lips ran over her skin, and she shivered under his caresses, willing herself _not_ to feel pleasure at this faceless man’s touch. Soon however, she was panting—moaning--her juices running thick and hot as he ruthlessly exploited her body’s secrets. Finally he spread her thighs and brought his thick cock to her hot, wet cunt. Rubbing the tip against her lips, he coated it in her juices before slowly thrusting into her tightness. His glowing, golden eyes burned into hers. 

“Tell me, Morgana, that you want me, that you want _this_. You feel the connection between us. ” 

She whimpered soundlessly, writhing against him, body screaming to have him inside her. Still, her mind resisted. She didn’t even know _who_ he was. Suddenly he withdrew from her, and she groaned an involuntary protest. 

“Say it, Morgana. Tell me you want me to fuck you, that you want this. You’re dying for it, aren’t you? Say the words, Morgana.” 

He rubbed the tip of his cock against her as he spoke and Morgana vainly tried to push against him, to get him inside without having to speak. He teased her, brushing his hot cock-head against her moist slit again. “Say it, love. Tell me you want me to fuck you, and I will.”

Finally Morgana snapped. “Please, oh God! Please fuck me!”

As soon as the words were out, he pushed inside her hungry cunt. She thrust against him as he stuffed her full of his long thick shaft. She thrashed wildly on his prick, gasping as she stretched to accommodate him. 

There was no holding back as her defenses collapsed. “God, yes! Fuck me! Harder! Don’t stop! That’s it! Give it to me!” 

Smoothly pumping his thick cock inside her clasping pussy, he slammed into her as she bucked wildly against him. Ramming harder and harder, she begged for more, holding onto his shoulders and biting his neck as she slammed her hips to meet his grinding thrusts. She screamed as she came, shuddering wildly, her pussy clenching around him, milking his shaft with rippling contractions as she convulsed ecstatically. 

He shouted hoarsely and stilled above her, his body tense and shaking. Soon she felt the liquid rush of his release and clung tightly to his sweaty body as they both quivered in the aftermath of passion. He rolled over, taking her with him and she sprawled boneless across his chest. 

“Who are you?” she whispered into his skin.

“You know.”

“I…don’t…what are you? Why…what are you to me? I don’t even know your name.”

“You know exactly who I am to you. Say it.”

Defeated she sighed against his chest and whispered aloud for the first time, 

“Yes, Master.”

* * *

**#54**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana, Gwen/Morgana/Leon, Gwen/Morgana/Other  
 **Warning(s):** threesome

The first time Gwen has sex, it’s because of Morgana. 

Technically, it’s _with_ Morgana, it’s just that there’s also the bloke from Morgana’s macroeconomics class that she’s been casually fucking. 

Gwen’s legs are spread wide, her knees sinking into the bedcovers, and there’s a dick inside her for the first time. It’s a foreign thing, disorienting and new and she thinks she’d be panicking a little if Morgana wasn’t stroking her hair. 

Gwen’s fingers curl into the sheets as Leon fucks her, thrusts no longer slow and careful. She bites down on her lip, moaning quietly, and Morgana shushes her, fingers running across Gwen’s jaw. 

“Wait,” Morgana says, and Leon slows, his hands still tight on Gwen’s hips. “Hold her up.” 

Leon wraps his hand around Gwen’s waist, giving Morgana room to lie down on her back right under Gwen, her legs spread to the side. Gwen is left staring at Morgana splayed out naked under her, heart stuck in her throat, as Morgana nudges her thighs until Gwen is straddling her. 

Before Gwen can even get used to all the naked skin, Leon slams back in, and Gwen falls forwards, catching herself with both hands on either side of Morgana. Their cunts are rubbing against each other as Leon fucks her, faster now, and Morgana moves with them, her gorgeous breasts bouncing in time with the thrusts. 

Gwen wants to cry. It’s more than she’d hoped for, the way Morgana is moving her hips too, her lips parted and her breath laboured. Gwen wants to kiss her, wants to twist their tongues together until there’s no pulling them apart. 

When Leon fucks Morgana with Gwen still on top of her, she wants to taste the moans falling from Morgana’s mouth. 

*

The first time Gwen gets her mouth on Morgana’s cunt, they’re at a party. Gwen has no idea who the other bloke is, and doubts Morgana does either, but Gwen has a hard time caring too much. She’ll take his cock too, if it means having Morgana like this.

Elena might kill them if she ever finds out what they’ve been doing in her guest bedroom. Not that Gwen is ever going to tell anyone. 

Gwen buries her face between Morgana’s legs, flicking her tongue against her clit with fast, little movements that has Morgana rolling her hips. Gwen fucks herself back on the bloke’s cock, liking the way it’s stretching her. She likes it, even though being fucked isn’t the reason she does this. But it feels good. Even his deep moans make her wet. 

But it’s still nothing compared to seeing Morgana throw her head back and gasp as Gwen’s tongue dips into her, licking slow patterns. Morgana grinds against her mouth, hands coming to twist into Gwen’s hair. When the bloke slams in, Gwen is pushed against Morgana, her face slick with wetness. 

She fucks Morgana with her tongue, greedy for it, so hungry for the way Morgana’s thighs clamp around her head, her moans loud even over the muted music from downstairs. Someone walks by outside the bedroom, but Gwen just keeps going, wants Morgana to come on her tongue. 

Afterwards, Gwen brings herself off while Morgana rides the bloke, her gorgeous body catching the light from the bedside lamp, hips moving in sensuous circles as her hair tumbles down her back. 

*

“Do you like them?”

“I don’t know, they’re alright. I prefer the mint ones.”

“No,” Morgana says, laughing briefly. “The threesomes.”

Gwen blushes, tucking her legs closer to her body. “Oh, yeah. I do.” She becomes painfully aware that they’re sitting on Morgana’s bed. 

“I know I kind of roped you into them.” Morgana looks so earnest then, stripped down. She’s only wearing her flannel pyjamas, her face free of make up. “Please tell me if you’d rather stop.”

“I wanted to.” Gwen swallows, looks down. “I—I like them because you’re there.”

The quiet stretches and Gwen panics. Oh, God. 

The bed dips and Gwen looks up, surprised, to find Morgana’s face close, her eyes wide and searching. And then their lips are pressed together, the tip of Morgana’s tongue sliding across her bottom lip. Gwen whimpers, opens her mouth into the kiss and drowns in the feeling of Morgana’s tongue in her mouth. 

Gwen comes harder than she’s ever come in her life with her fingers digging bruises into Morgana’s hips as Morgana grinds against her, unbearably hot and wet and perfect.

* * *

**#55**

**Pairing(s):** Morgana/Arthur, Morgana/Gwaine, Arthur/Merlin (implied)  
 **Warning(s):** Incest and kidnapping.

“Will you hurry up and put them in the carriage? The more racket they make the more attention they’ll bring,” Morgana ordered. “Do we want more attention?”

“No, ma’am.”

She smiled. “Don’t forget to gag them, either.”

~*~

Morgana tossed her head back which caused more of her dark hair to come undone from its loose braid. The hands on her hips tightened their grip at the action and prompted her to move faster.

She placed her hands on her partner’s stomach in order to gain some more leverage. His eyes were glued to her bouncing breasts and the sound of his cock sliding in and out of her wet cunt was more than either of them could bare.

The orgasm hit Morgana suddenly and her inner walls clamped down on the cock inside her. It drew a groan from the man below her, the cock quickly softening and enabling her to collapse onto the empty left side of the bed. 

After the afterglow started to fade, Morgana drew the covers up around them. She leaned her head against the pillow and frowned.

“Where is your head at, Arthur? You seem distracted which, I might add, is not the kind of compliment a lady is fond of,” Morgana murmured as she playfully dragged her nails down his sweat slicked chest. 

One of her fingers gently tweaked his nipple and it barely got a response. This was most concerning.

“I do apologize but to be fair you are not very ladylike,” Arthur teased.

She punched his shoulder. “Shut up, Arthur.”

“See?” he laughed.

“Tell me where your head is.”

Arthur sighed. “Do you remember that peasant boy we nearly ran over a few weeks ago?”

“Of course I remember,” Morgana said with a soft giggle. “What about him?”

“I want him.”

~*~

“Now, be a good boy and try not to make too much noise. Understand, Merlin?” Morgana asked while gently patting his cheek.

She couldn’t understand her brother’s fascination with the boy but who she to deny Arthur something he wanted? The only catch in Morgana agreeing to snatch the boy for Arthur was that she be able to have her own fun as well.

~*~

“You want him as a pet?” She slapped his chest in mock anger but did indeed feel a sense of bewilderment. “He’s scrawny and entirely unappealing!”

Arthur smirked. “To you, maybe but I’ve been watching Merlin and I want him.”

“Oh, Arthur after you learn their name the obsession only becomes worse,” Morgana scolded.

“I found someone for too.”

This caused her to smile this time. “Do tell, Arthur.”

~*~

Morgana laughed as Merlin struggled and then turned to the bulkier man beside him. “Now, you Gwaine are quite an impressive creature. I admit that when my brother first told me about you I had my doubts but seeing you changed my mind.”

She leaned into the carriage and ripped the gag off Gwaine’s mouth. Her fingers threaded into his dark hair before yanking the man’s head up roughly. 

“You are lovely, Gwaine.” Morgana whispered, their lips only inches apart. She kissed him and bit down onto his lip hard enough to draw blood. It only excited her even more. “I can’t wait to try you out, pretty boy.”

~*~

“When were you planning to retrieve them?”

The question came out between gasps as Arthur kissed his way down her body. All the talk of the peasant boy and her approval had apparently caused some renewed interest in their previous activities. 

“I was planning for two days from now but father is insisting on us spending quality time during a hunting trip,” Arthur muttered with a roll of his eyes.

Morgana clutched the sheets as Arthur took her beast into his mouth and gently worried the nipple between his teeth. It made it difficult to form any coherent thought but Morgana was always up for a challenge.

“You are a lovely woman, Morgana,” Arthur murmured before drawing her into a passionate kiss.

It was decided then.

* * *

**#56**

**Pairing(s):** Elena/Mithian  
 **Warning(s):** none

If a substitute exists for the roar of an engine under Mithian's hands, or the breathless feelings that rips through her body at the screech of the tires, Mithian hasn't found it yet. 

She laughs, high and clear above the blare of horns. Sirens paint the blurred landscape a smudge of red and blue. 

Mithian shifts into a higher gear and floors it. 

*

"I though it told you to lay low." The Duchess points a long crimson nail at Mithian In a way that suggests she'd enjoy dismembering her. 

"Underground racing is low."

"So you surfaced for air on the 6 o'clock news. What if Guinevere had needed you for a job?"

"She knows where to find me."

Mithian has two absolute needs and number one with a bullet is racing. Hands off the wheel and the itch ever present underneath her skin becomes unbearable. To Mithian, driving is like breathing. 

The Duchess tuts. "Now, what would your mechanic say about that?"

*

(If driving is breathing, Elena is Mithian's lungs.)

*

"Leave her out of this." Her hands are shaking, she hides them out of sight behind her back. 

The Duchess smiles. It reminds Mithian of a shark sensing blood. 

"Then I advise you to be more careful. I'm not as fussy about collateral damage as Guinevere. Getaway drivers are, regrettably, replaceable." 

The newspaper open on her desk screams 'Penn Oil Facilities Robbed: Suspects Still At Large.'

Mithian walks in tight measured steps until she's out of sight. Then she runs. 

*

"Fixed that awful clunking noise and changed the tires out-" Elena shouts over the echoing screams of the crowd. Her welding goggles have left rings across her cheeks again. Mithian loves her impossibly. 

"-are you listening to me? Try and be nice to your tires, you burn through the like matches."

Mithian rolls her eyes. "Yes, yes, and you shout at me every time you have to order a new set. Do I get a kiss for luck?"

Elena smacks her 

 

With a wrench, but it's a small wrench and she's smiling. 

"No such thing as luck. Just win, baby."

" _Drivers start your engines please_ " shouts the announcer. The noise of the crowd swells. 

Mithian leans out the passenger side window. "I always do."

The flag falls and the race begins. 

*

Mithian is many things. A liar is not one. 

*

"You know, the pit crew has black lights," Elena says, voice breathy when Mithian's tongue traces the edge of her bra.

"The pit crew would applaud us. Kara might bake you a cake." 

Elena pulls on Mithian's hair and makes a noise high in her throat when it gets her Mithian's teeth. Mithian's hands are already busy at work unbuttoning coveralls in the cramped backseat. Maybe next time they should spring for a limo. They Kiel having to derail kissing because Elena's giggling and Mithian's swearing in several languages. 

"Finally," she says getting her hands on bare skin. The windows of the car are fogging now, and Elena's breaths come in quick, harsh pants when Mithian works a hand between her thighs. 

"Fuck, Mithian, I need-" Elena says into the corner of her mouth, "I need-"

"I know," she says biting down to hear the high pitched whine that follows. The pink marks she leaves today with be carefully covered under Elena's worksuit tomorrow, taken out and displayed for Mithian and Mithian alone. 

"I wish you could see yourself," Mithian murmurs to Elena twisting and gasping beneath her. Elena's already so wet for her, despite Mithian having yet to get a finger inside. She swallows Elena's answering moan with a kiss. Rubs her through the dripping fabric until the car frame is shaking, echoing Mithian's name in victory. 

*

It's not a replacement for racing. It's possibly better.

* * *

**#57**

**Pairing(s):** Hunith/Balinor  
 **Warning(s):** none

Hunith comes across Balinor about a league across the Camelot border. She’s sticky under her leather armor, and tired, and trying hard with every step not to think of her fellow Dragonlords, swinging from the rope. She’d had to get leagues away before she couldn’t hear Kilgarrah roaring anymore, locked under the castle.

“You don’t want to fight me, boy,” is what she says when she stumbles across Balinor in the woods.

“No, I don’t think I do,” he says, scruitinizing her leather armor. Well that was good. There was really only one thing she could be, a woman in leather armor, and Hunith was glad that she didn’t have to conjure something impressive-looking to warn him off. Dragonlords garnered much awe, but at base, they were not all that different from sheep herders. For the world’s biggest, sulkiest sheep.

Eventually, he shrugs. “I’ve got a stew going in that pot. You can share it if you like.”

Hunith allows herself a smile. “Good, then. I’m Hunith.”

“Balinor,” he says. On second look, he’s probably of an age with Hunith herself, his beard just beginning to come in under sharp cheekbones.

He stokes the fire under the pot, while Hunith strips out of her armor and clothing and goes into the river, taking care to scrub away all the sweat, dirt and blood. She feels like a new woman when she emerges, dripping wet.

“Oh,” Balinor says, eyes round.

“Oh,” Hunith echoes, and grimaces. “Sorry. I forget—” she reaches belatedly for her tunic. She’s too used to being around fellow Dragonfolk, who generally regard modesty and manners as excesses fit only for mincing nobility. One has to be free of shame to spend one’s time around dragons, who piss and fuck and eat with the freedom that comes of having the biggest teeth around.

The thought of fucking reminds her that it’s been an _age_ since Hunith’s had a lover. Or even just put a hand down her trousers. And this boy—man—looks lithe and strong, and not a little bit fey. Hunith wonders 

She drops down to sit upon her cloak, her tunic fluttering at her hips. She watches as Balinor’s eyes follow her, and the way she splays her legs haphazardly.

“Are you any good with your mouth?”she said out loud.

He is, in fact, although inexperienced. Balinor licks her good and thorough—the crooks of her thighs, the lips of her vulva, the curling hair.

She reaches down and spreads herself with one hand, so that he can get his tongue pressed even further inside. She feels delicious, like…

“You see that?” She flicks her clit with a finger. “Put your mouth there.” And he does, it’s spectacular.

“Suck it,” she says, and he _does_ , with a delicate care that makes Hunith smile down at his dark head. “Bit harder. Yes—oh—lovely.”

The tree canopy above her dances green, and for a moment Hunith forgets whatever it was she was worried about, because she’s got the sky above her and this warm, wet mouth between her legs.

“Come up here,” she says, almost slurring, and feeling deeply generous. “You can spill in my mouth.”

Balinor _shudders_ at that, and crawls stiltedly up her body, his hand already moving on his prick. He must have been touching himself all this while, for he’s stiff and red and—

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Balinor says, curling over, and coming in warm streaks over her breasts and neck.

He’s still shuddering out his pleasure when he adds, “Sorry. Damn. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

Hunith is ridiculously charmed by him. How he was so excited by her that he couldn’t wait for her mouth. “Will you get me a wet cloth?”

He cleans off her chest with more care than is quite necessary, cleans her nipples until they point at the sky and Hunith’s clenching down on nothing, and she appropriates his long fingers to fill it up.

* * *

**#58**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur/Gwen  
 **Warning(s):** double penetration (vag/anal)

Merlin looks at the white line of a thin, old scar on his calf, the only part of his body that isn’t sunburned. He’d lean back on the couch but his back hurts, and he knows skin will start peeling off his shoulders soon. It's always like this. Arthur will be all golden, and Gwen's skin will reach that deep colour of molten chocolate that makes Merlin want to lick it like it’s some luscious dessert made of syrup and cocoa.

He closes his eyes and listens to Gwen and Arthur moving around in the kitchenette behind him. His head is full of images of them touching, goofing around, Gwen being pulled into the sea, splashing, saying, "Oh, stop it you idiot. Merlin, come into the water, it's amazing!"

Merlin waves; he's good where he is. He's fine. And he really doesn't know why he’s doing this to himself, why he doesn’t just move to the other side of the globe and not see this, but instead he drags himself along with them, without air to breathe because it's been stolen from his lungs by his best friends.

He feels warm pressure on his thighs and when he opens his eyes there's Gwen, leaning towards him, watching him. Merlin's heart stops. The world stops, too. The room is quiet, air still, not even a breath of sound from the cicadas. This is how Gwen used to look at Merlin before Arthur’s snatched her for himself, before he captured Merlin's heart, too.

Six years, Merlin thinks. Six fucking years, and yet he's still at square one, his stupid will not strong enough to get a grip, his brain locked and focused on them, always them.

Unmoving, Merlin looks back at Gwen, not daring to understand. Arthur's breath, sudden and hot on his neck, makes him inhale, and when Arthur sneaks a hand from behind, palm so wide and dark on Merlin's pink chest, Merlin still doesn't dare to believe.

He parts his lips as Gwen kisses him, gentle and sweet, the way she always used to. Her lips linger on Merlin's, but then Arthur's hand directs Merlin’s chin the other way, towards blue eyes so serious, not playful at all.

"Is this okay?" Arthur asks.

Merlin nods, his whole body tense, vibrating from the touch of the fingers on his chin.

"Will you be okay after?"

Merlin nods again, even though he won't be. This will be the breaking point and he won't ever be okay again. But maybe that’s what he needs.

He lets them take him to their bedroom, onto the bed he was trying so hard to avoid looking at. And when Gwen, all naked and shiny, sits down in one long move on Arthur's hard cock, nesting it deep inside her pussy, Merlin still doesn't believe it.

He places his hand on Gwen’s back, pushing gently until she’s lying on Arthur’s chest, legs on both sides of Arthur’s thighs and those perfect buttocks Merlin’s always adored on display, little hole visible like a dot of sweet pink cream in the heart of a muffin.

He prepares her as he would a man, easing his fingers in, one, then two. He lines his cock up, pushing in slowly.

“Oh, God, so full.” Gwen gasps, trying to move when he’s all the way in, and Merlin thinks, This is Arthur’s cock he’s feeling, rubbing through the thin layer of tissue inside of Gwen’s body.

Everything’s hot: Merlin’s skin’s burning and his eyes still sting. When he comes his arms tremble. He puts his forehead on Gwen’s back, breathing her skin, open-mouthed, with Arthur’s hand clasped around his.

The sound of their breathing is loud all of a sudden, louder than the buzz in Merlin’s ears. As they collapse, sweaty and warm, Merlin finds himself spooned by Arthur, cupped by the strong arms, with Arthur’s lips again on his neck, where the hairs are curling from the moisture. Gwen puts her palm on Merlin’s cheek, caresses once, before letting the hand fall, her lips parted against Merlin’s.

He sneaks out later, disentangling himself from all the limbs, and pours himself a glass of juice. He stands in the kitchenette, leaning on the fridge door, trying to ease the tremors of his body. He doesn’t turn when he hears the soft padding of bare feet behind him. He doesn’t allow himself to think what it means when Arthur pulls him into a hug, whispering, “You’ll be okay. We’ll all be.”

* * *

**#59**

**Pairing(s):** Morgana/Gwen  
 **Warning(s):** sexual extortion, slight age difference, power imbalance, dub-con, historical au (early 1900’s)

Someone bumps against her in the crowd, and Morgana feels someone’s quick hand in her pocket. The market is crowded, and nobility and commoners alike are rubbing shoulders as they try to find holiday treats in one of the rickety stalls. She twists around and manages to catch the wrist of the person trying to steal her coin purse. Beautiful brown eyes meet hers, and Morgana doesn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t a girl who’s still pretty, despite being covered in a layer of soot and dirt.

Not letting go, she retrieves the purse and puts it back in her pocket.

“Please, m’lady,” the girl says, “I just need to feed my little ones.”

Looking at her again, the girl looks older than Morgana thought at first glance, probably slightly younger than her own 25 years. She’s thin and dirty, but looks healthy otherwise.

“Please, m’lady...”

The girl – woman – makes a bid to get away, but Morgana keeps her wrist in a strong grip. She’s always been stubborn, and this isn’t an exception.

“Do you even have children?” she asks, and watches the woman flinch before straightening up and meeting her eyes again, this time searching.

The answer comes out more aggressive than it was probably intended.

“No, they’re all horrible little brats! But I need to eat, too.”

Morgana knows her offer isn’t that of a good Christian, but her mouth acts before she can stop herself.

“I live in the big brownstone by the square. Be there at seven tonight, and I’ll give you some money for food. Or...”

She closes her eyes and licks her dry lips before continuing. She’ll go to hell for what she’s thinking.

“Or I’ll fetch the police.”

The girl’s eyes widen, but she nods. When Morgana lets go of her wrist, she doesn’t linger. The crowd swallows her up, and Morgana is left feeling uneasy, and full of unclean thoughts.

***

The girl is actually right on time. When Morgana’s maid shows her into the sitting room, she looks around curiously, taking in the high ceiling, ornate windows, thick curtains, and the warm fire crackling in the stone fireplace. She seems to have cleaned up a bit – the dirt and soot are not as prevalent as in the marketplace – but she’s still wearing the same tattered dress.

Morgana dismisses the maid, who curtsies and closes the door behind her on the way out. 

“Sit,” Morgana says to the girl, fighting to keep her voice calm. “What’s your name? I’m Morgana, daughter of Lord Uther.”

“Gwen,” the girl says. “Daughter of Tom, the lower town blacksmith.”

“Yet you have to steal to survive?”

“He died a year ago. It’s not easy, getting by on your own, m’lady.”

Morgana nods thoughtfully, and comes to a decision. “I apologise for asking you to come. You shall have the money I promised, of course...”

But she doesn’t get further than that, as the girl rises and with two quick steps is right before her grabbing her neck. There’s a dry, chapped pair of lips on Morgana’s, but the kiss is warm and the tongue finding its way into her mouth is slick. It’s like her mind has wanted nothing more, because Morgana is unable to resist it.

She fumbles with the girl’s skirt, gets lost in the underskirt, but eventually reaches the smooth skin of a thigh. It feels like her fingers are made of embers, the way they burn.

“I want it,” Gwen sighs. She finds Morgana’s hand under the skirts and guides it to between her legs.

Initially, Morgana resists, but when she feels the first wetness, her curiosity takes over and she explores Gwen with her fingers. Rubbing, stroking, even pinching a bit. Gwen moans and leans into the hand, grasping Morgana’s shoulder to stay upright, occasionally bending down to place wet kisses on her face and neck.

It’s like opening a book and suddenly finding out you can read. Morgana’s always been uninterested in the men her father has paraded before her, but this... This is different.

When there’s a hard knock on the door the two women fly apart. Gwen quickly rearranges her dress and turns away from Morgana, wiping her mouth.

The door opens and Uther strides in.

“Father...!”

“Morgana, my darling! But... are you ill? You look flushed.”

At a loss for words, Morgana glances at Gwen. 

She gets nothing but a small, secret smile in return.

* * *

**#60**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** noncon, minor age difference (5 years), captivity

When Merlin opened the barn door, Arthur was sleeping. Merlin was only supposed to come here when it was his turn to feed him, but he couldn’t stay away.

They lived in the Middle Of Nowhere, Wales, and there wasn’t a boy his age for miles. Merlin’s only hope for any company was whoever Mordred brought back.

He walked forward, then picked up the roll of tape nearby. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the next part. Arthur woke after Merlin pressed the sticky side over his mouth and beard, muffling him.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, meaning it. “I just don’t want you to yell.”

Arthur looked at him like he’d gone mad. When Merlin stepped over the chain attached to Arthur’s handcuffs to get to the crank, and started turning to hoist Arthur up, arms above his head, the look turned more cautious and wary.

“I won’t hurt you,” Merlin said. “I’m not like the others.”

Arthur eyed him sceptically.

Merlin bit his lip and walked behind Arthur. His heart was racing and he couldn’t believe he was finally going to be able to do this but here he was at last, raising his hands to touch…

“Wow,” Merlin exhaled.

Arthur was so warm. He reeked of sweat and urine and the barn, and despite the weeks of captivity he was still obviously muscular. His sides were firm, his arse was so perfectly round…

“Mmmf!”

Arthur squirmed away when Merlin’s hands moved lower, but Merlin kept his grip firm. He ran his hands up and down Arthur’s chest, caressing under his raised shirt.

“Shh, be still.”

Merlin was so hard now, his cock aching to be free. He moved his fingers to the button of Arthur’s jeans, managing to get it undone even with Arthur squirming. They dropped to the ground, and Merlin sent Arthur’s pants along shortly after.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

“Hmmf mmf!”

“Won’t hurt you, I promise,” Merlin repeated as he dropped his pants. He heard Arthur sigh and figured Arthur had had the same thought as before, that it was no use resisting.

Merlin took a step back and rummaged through the pockets of the trousers pooled at his ankles, removing the things he’d brought from his room. He talked as he worked, hoping it would distract Arthur while also distracting himself from the gravity of the moment.

“I’m not that much younger than you, you know,” he rambled. “You’re only five years older. And I’ll be seventeen in three months.”

Arthur grunted.

“I’m not like my family,” Merlin said as he rolled on the condom. “I’m not going to hurt you. Well, not too much, I hope. The tape will probably hurt your beard coming off.”

Arthur didn’t make a sound.

Another deep inhale, and Merlin was spreading Arthur’s legs. An exhale, and Merlin was pushing forward, the tip of his cock burrowing deeper, the shaft slowly being engulfed by all-consuming heat.

“Oh God, Oh God.”

Just a bit further in, and then there was a whimper. Arthur’s head was hanging between his raised arms, and the muscles in his legs looked all tensed up, so Merlin could only assume it was a sound made from nerves.

“Have you ever had sex with a bloke before?” Merlin managed once he was all the way in. He had to keep still, just for a bit, or he’d come before even really getting started.

After a few seconds, Arthur shook his head.

“That makes two of us,” Merlin muttered.

He widened his stance and curled his fingers tighter around Arthur’s hips, going as slow as he could bear. It was from awe at first, at the wondrous sight of his cock disappearing into the vacuum of heat, then because he worried he was hurting Arthur. Arthur was being so quiet now, Merlin didn’t know what to make of it.

He only quickened his pace when he was sure Arthur wasn’t in pain. Then it was over ridiculously quickly. Only a dozen or so thrusts passed, and just as Merlin was thinking he wanted to do this all day, a wave of pleasure overtook him, heat clenching in his groin and shooting up.

“Ah, ah, oh _fuck_!”

Merlin didn’t want it over so soon. He slid out slowly but stayed for just a while, resting his head on the back of Arthur’s neck as he caught his breath.

“That was my first time,” he said after a while.

Arthur sighed. Merlin rubbed his nose over the knob of Arthur’s spine and grinned.

* * *

**#61**

**Pairing:** Kara/Sophia  
 **Warnings:** Attempted assassination, kidnapping, allusions to non-con (one character has siren-like abilities; she never fully uses them to have non-consensual sex, but it is discussed and mentioned that she could)

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go.

“You’re a siren,” Kara accused, pressing her knife closer to the other woman’s throat.

“And you’re resisting me,” the woman tilted her head to the side, unconcerned about the blade that was about to sink into her skin. She smirked and leaned back on the wall Kara was pushing her to, then slid her leg between Kara’s.

“Don’t,” Kara warned, squeezing her thighs around the woman’s. She huffed and grit her teeth, trying her hardest not to rut and ride the leg that was _just_ there. It was an offer for her to obey the woman’s allure and feed the desire that had her cunt pulsing with every whiff of the woman’s scent; she felt it with every breath she took and it was trying to pull her closer, closer, closer. “Don’t,” she choked out again and shook her head in a desperate attempt to clear it.

“Don’t worry,” the woman said in a sweet voice. One of her hands pried the knife away from Kara. “I won’t.”

Kara felt the woman wrap her arms around her before her knees gave way and darkness swallowed her.

~~~

“What happened?” Kara asked, then motioned to the cell she’d woken up in. “I thought I wasn’t a prisoner anymore.”

Mordred’s eyes widened. “You’re not!” He assured her. “I wasn’t guarding you. I’m only supposed to make sure you’re well before I lead you to Morgana.”

“I want to see her now.”

“But you—”

“Now.”

Mordred sighed and led the way. 

~

“What is she doing here?”

“Her name’s Sophia,” Morgana said, carefully gauging Kara’s reaction. “She’s with us now. What happened between you was a test, for both of you. I only need the best with me, Kara,” she raised her voice when Kara huffed and crossed her arms. “Now I know your loyalty is unconditional.”

“What about your loyalty?” Kara snapped. “You just threw me at her. She could’ve...”

“I didn’t do anything to you,” Sophia said. “And have you forgotten that you had your knife to my throat?”

“You were my target!”

“And you were mine.” The lack of emotion in Sophia’s voice was irritating.

Kara looked at Morgana, who just raised a questioning eyebrow. Kara sighed. “Whatever. What’s next?” 

~~~

“You spy on me a lot for someone who doesn’t want me around.”

Kara grit her teeth. “I can’t help it. I need to know you if we’re to work together.”

Sophia took a drag of her cigarette and offered the pack to Kara. She shook her head, but sat on the curb next to Sophia.

“So… do you have any other magic? Except for the allure?”

“Oh, yes.” Sophia smirked, then frowned. “I haven’t used it like that, you know,” she muttered. “And I never will.”

“I believe you.” Kara nodded. “Sorry I tried to kill you.”

Sophia chuckled. “It’s fine. It was a job. It was for Morgana.”

Kara nodded again. “We have to protect her.”

“And we will.”

~~~

They fell into each other’s arms, thrilled after the first job they’d done together. Kara swallowed down Sophia’s breathless laughter when their lips found each other in the darkness. 

~~~

“Mordred’s,” Kara panted, feeling heat pool between her thighs, “right outside.”

“He won’t hear us. I made sure,” Sophia said and lifted her skirt further up. She pulled Kara closer to her chest until Kara was laying back, relaxed and pliant, arching into her touches. “And even if he does,” Sophia added, fingers slipping down Kara’s underwear, “he’ll probably just blush and fidget in his place.”

“Yeah, he does that a lot,” Kara let out a breathless chuckle that turned into a moan when Sophia’s fingers found her clit and circled it gently. Sophia hummed and kissed her neck, slipped her other hand under Kara’s shirt to play with a nipple. “Yeah,” Kara breathed and pushed her hips up. 

“Should we make it quick?”

“I don’t,” Kara moaned. “Just, yeah,” she moaned when Sophia’s touches became harder, more insistent. “Fuck,” she groaned when the fingers rubbed faster and faster, slowed down only when Kara felt herself tighten up and released with a whimper.

Sophia slipped her hand further down, drove her fingers past Kara’s wet lips. Kara shuddered, picturing Sophia parting them and licking her clean.

“Come on,” she said and pulled Sophia’s hand out, turned around and gave her a kiss. “Your turn.”

Sophia smirked and her eyes gleamed when she whispered a word that left them bare against each other.

* * *


	4. Group D (warnings)

**#62**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Morgana  
 **Warning(s):** None!

[](http://imgur.com/vhA5fyg)

* * *

**#63**

**Pairing:** Gwaine/Morgana  
 **Warning:** Noncon

_Oh, Gwaine, so handsome, so selfless. Of course you shall have some supper . . . as long as you're prepared to sing for it._

[](http://imgur.com/w94uPi7)

* * *

**#64**

**Pairing(s): Gwen/Morgana**   
**Warning(s): None**

"Gotcha!"

[](http://imgur.com/6pVLyeD)

* * *

**#65**

**Pairing(s):** Gwen/Lancelot  
 **Warning(s):** None

[](http://imgur.com/79d3eYm)

* * *

**#66**

**Pairing(s):** Merlin/Arthur  
 **Warning(s):** None  
 **Summary:** Arthur has snatched Morgana's favourite dress from her chambers (out of spite because she beat him at sword-fighting earlier) and found a most interesting object hidden amongst the many layers of fabric.

He immediately seeks out Merlin to show him his new toy.

[](http://imgur.com/1OXiz7d)

* * *

**#67**

**Pairing(s):**   
**Warning(s):**

**Morgana:** hey. miss you.   
**Morgana:** why did you screenshot that?   
**Gwen:** you know why ;)

[](http://imgur.com/9vTZmoZ)

* * *

**#68**

**Pairing(s):** Morgana/Gwen  
 **Warning(s):** None!

Snatching a moment before the Lady has to get up for the day. The flowers are sage and lavender, which are supposed to help you sleep. :)

[](http://imgur.com/bQVS23I)

* * *

**#69**

**Pairing(s):** Arthur/Merlin  
 **Warning(s):** None

[](http://imgur.com/R2cKFi8)


	5. Group A (clean)

**#1**

“Arthur! We’ve got to hurry before—” Merlin froze upon stumbling down the stairs, keys clenched tightly in his fist as he stared at the irate blonde who stood with her arms crossed defensively across her chest from the inside of the cell was supposed to be housing the kidnapped prince. “Who are you and why are you wearing Prince Arthur’s clothes?”

“It’s me, you idiot, and if it’s all the same to you, I really don’t want to talk about it.”

+

They ended up talking about it. They had to. Because the knights who had accompanied Merlin on the rescue mission just wouldn’t let it go.

The discussion is what led Arthur to camping out in the woods just outside of Camelot, rather than returning home. He wanted his manly bits back and, considering his father’s stance on magic, he didn’t want to risk the king refusing to allow him to seek a cure. Because as Merlin so helpfully pointed out, why would he need a cure? Uther’s heir was still alive, still healthy, and still perfectly capable of producing babies. So what if he had to be introduced as Princess Ar…ness?

Plus, there was the underlying fear that his father would look at him and see his dead mother and fly off the deep end.

No, none of that settled well with Arthur at all. So he resorted to lying hidden in wait until Gaius could find a way to fix him.

+

“So…have you touched them yet?”

Arthur refused to look away from the dwindling fire and grunted a non-answer in response. He had been a woman for almost a week now, and was starting to feel a bit depressed. Having Merlin visit as often as he could wasn’t nearly as encouraging as his servant seemed to think it should be.

“What’s it like?”

“What’s what like?” he groused out upon catching Merlin’s almost overly eager expression.

“Your…” Merlin hand bent towards himself and he waved a finger at his own chest.

“…Are you asking me if I’ve groped myself now that I’m a woman?” Arthur was pretty sure he was both offended and outraged.

“No!” Merlin automatically denied at his master’s fury. “No! Definitely…yes. Okay, yes, I am. Come on, you can’t honestly tell me you’re not in the least bit curious?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. In his frustration, it actually hadn’t occurred to him to take advantage of his predicament. But the excited shine in Merlin’s grin had him reaching up almost automatically and giving his right breast a gentle squeeze.

“Squishy,” he answered dryly, returning his gaze to the fire.

Merlin’s smile fell right off his face. “What, that’s it? But everyone already knows that!”

Arthur smirked. “ _Do_ you already know that?”

The scowl that darkened Merlin’s face had Arthur feeling much better than he had several minutes ago. He could feel his morose mood lifting now that he found a way to mercilessly tease his companion.

+

A high-pitched whine escaped from Arthur’s throat as both teeth and tongue scraped at his nipple. Somewhere in the last few days, the teasing took a dangerous turn that had been far too tempting for both Merlin and Arthur to ignore.

Arthur had no idea it felt so good to have his breasts squeezed and kneaded. To have his nipples pinched and sucked. To learn that the arousal of a woman was felt so much differently than a man.

This would probably explain why he was unable to stop himself from straddling Merlin. From grinding down against the tale tell hardness as soon as he located it.

Noises kept spilling past his lips as Merlin touched him. Distantly, he was aware of Merlin talking to him. Pleading with him. But all he could focus on was the building tightness deep within his gut. Of the wetness he was exuding that was causing his breeches to slip and slide against him in the best of ways. Of how badly he wanted Merlin to push against him harder. Deeper. To breach into him.

“Arthur, I’m going to come—!”

Arthur’s eyes snapped open sightlessly and he tilted his gaze down to take in Merlin’s pained expression as he struggled to continue to focus on his appointed task of playing with Arthur’s breasts.

So Arthur rode him faster.

Merlin’s hands dropped to Arthur’s hips, where he gripped him tight and cried out as his orgasm overwhelmed him.

The sound snapped at the tension that had been driving Arthur, and suddenly the muscles that ran from between his legs up inside of him were clenching and unclenching in a manner that far surpassed all previous beliefs of what true pleasure felt like. Wave after wave of ecstasy washed over him for far longer than any orgasm he had ever had before.

By the time finally regained his sense of self, he noticed his eyes were damp and he was being cradled close to Merlin, who was making soothing noises while placing gentle kisses wherever his mouth could reach.

A distant part of Arthur wanted to scoff and push Merlin away; to complain that he wasn’t a _girl_ —

—except he was.

Right now, he really and truly was.

And he had no idea for how long he would continue to be.

* * *

**#2**

The clock was flashing 12:00. It had been twelve for an eternity, since she clawed her way out from a bad dream and her erratic magic lashed out and cut the power at two in the morning. Someone had managed to restore the power quickly enough, but she had not yet managed to make herself care enough to get out of bed to set the time, not when it was already the fifth time in three nights, and she had no classes in the morning.

Still the images from her dream lingered, flashing through her mind the instant she closed her eyes, without fail: Gwen, sprawled wantonly across Morgana's bed like an offering, head thrown back to show off her slim neck amd fine collarbones, full breasts heaving, that little whimper just the way Morgana imagined every time Gwen had an especially fudgy chocolate brownie from their favourite coffee shop. Gwen's legs, spread open as wide as they would go while Mithian's head bowed over her exposed centre and devoured sweet Gwen like a vicious animal, triumphantly taking what Morgana had always believed would be hers, if only Gwen didn't only have eyes for Arthur. Why had she introduced them?

Too late for regrets. The two had taken a while to warm to each other, both stubborn and opinionated, but Morgana didn't even know when they had added kissing and making out to their little study/debate sessions, only one day Mithian had made a joke that should have offended Gwen with its privilege, and Gwen only shot her a searing look and promised to make her pay, _later_.

Walking in to see them necking, Mithian looking so much like Morgna... she had quietly let herself out from Gwen's little bedsit without alerting them, and taken herself home to rage and cry.

This was foolish and useless. Since she was hot and frustrated already, Morgana skinned out of her nightgown and lay back to revel in the softness of the indulgent silk sheets she had bought herself for her birthday, meaning to invite Gwen to try them out in a perfectly innocent sleepover. She stretched out and cupped her own breasts, playing with her nipples and trying to squeeze her legs together.

So dull, so unsatisfactory. She wanted the touch of other hands, bold and surprising, unpredictable. A hot mouth on her skin, a slippery, sinuous tongue. Perhaps her magic...?

When the hands rose up from the sheets around her, she gasped, and found herself seized before she could think to react. All sorts of hands, large and small, soft and callused, gripping her arms and legs and roaming over her body, stroking, ticklingrubbing all over, interspersed with startling little pinches. Massaging her mound through her panties.

She couldn't decide if she was more delighted or frightened by this new outburst of her untrained magic, pulling uncertainly at the firm hands holding her open for the others to roam, exploring her her ways she wouldn''t have imagined - how were the insides of her arms and her boring belly so sensitive?

Then the mouths joined in. Soft kisses, suckling touches, one sharp nip on her buttocks at the same time a hot tongue ran over the wet crease the hand between her legs had rubbed into her panties. Fuck, yes, right there. Morgana squirmed, pushing up into it, and obliging hands pulled the sodden panties down her legs.

She decided to go with it and let her magic have its way.

* * *

**#3**

Morgana glanced from the pages of her book to the hologram above the controls. 45 minutes to landing. The book in her hands was a relic, one of the few left over from Earth, titled “The Great Gatsby.” The ostentatious mansion, the description of Earth’s old cities, and the simplicity of the characters’ lives without technology seemed so foreign to Morgana, yet she couldn’t help herself. Silent moments of solitude like these were her chance to indulge. 

Behind her, the door slid open and an android walked in. “Captain Le Fay, we are close to arrival time. I am here to make the announcement.” Morgana made a small noise of affirmation, and continued to read.  
“Hello passengers and staff, we will be landing in 45 minutes time to the planet of Astillon. Please make sure your belongings are ready to go,” the android said over the intercom. 

Putting her book down again, Morgana quietly murmured, “How can Gatsby keep loving her?”

“Excuse me, Captain Le Fay?”

“Sorry Gwen, it’s nothing. It’s just this book, the characters are so hopeless. Why on earth would someone set their whole lives up for one person who doesn’t even want them?”

Gwen stared at her blankly.

“I forget that you can’t understand love. More the better for you, I suppose. You would never fall into such a trap, you’d never even want to,” Morgana sighed.

Gwen stepped closer to where Morgana was sitting, feet propped up right next to the control panel. “It is true that we cannot feel love. However, androids understand the mechanics of love and attraction, perhaps better than humans do. We can analyze every movement, every micro-expression on humans’ faces. And we can use this knowledge to service humans to optimal capacity.”

Morgana felt her cheeks heat up, despite being far from innocent. “Are you offering to service me?” Morgana asked.

“I was not at that moment, but your body language and chemical signals suggest that you would like me to. For example, your temperature just rose several degrees, your body shifted slightly towards me, you began to blink more rapidly, and your pupils dilated. Would you like me to continue, or would you prefer that I begin to service you?” Gwen said, without pause the whole way through. 

Without needing to wait for an answer, Gwen lifted Morgana’s legs off the panel and scooped her up so that she was sitting on it instead. Morgana gasped, and helped Gwen undo the various clasps that made up her bodysuit. Shucking her weapons belt and boots along the way, eventually she was completely exposed. Gwen went to her knees without hesitation, only pausing to spread Morgana’s legs open. She leaned in and experimentally darted her tongue into Morgana’s folds, causing Morgana to twitch in pleasure at the sudden contact. Continuing along the same vein, Gwen continued to lick into Morgana, taking time to suck and lightly nibble at intervals. After making sure that Morgana was thoroughly aroused, Gwen first tried inserting one finger into Morgana, then another. It struck Morgana that Gwen’s fingers were warmer than she expected, always somehow thinking that androids were cold. 

Eventually, Gwen increased her speed to the point where her hand and tongue were moving faster. Morgana convulsed beneath her, feeling almost over-stimulated but needing to finish. With a final cry, a fountain of clear liquid pulsed out of Morgana, and she panted heavily. Gwen slowed down her pace and came to a stop, gently sliding her fingers out. She stood back up, and before anything, walked calmly to the intercom. 

“Hello passengers, please prepare for landing, as we are now only 15 minutes away.”

* * *

**#4**

Gwen whimpered, trying desperately to think past the haze clouding her mind. 

“What does this mean?” Morgana hissed her question again, crowding close and using the D-ring on Gwen’s collar to force her to meet Morgana’s steely eyes.

She thought back to moments after she’d first come here.

_“Kneel,” a clear voice commanded, leaving no room for Gwen to consider disobedience._

_She swallowed, glancing around at all the contraptions made of black leather and hard metal scattered about the room. ‘You want this’ she reminded herself, which was true; Gwen had been lusting after someone to dominate her for years. Besides, the payment was non-refundable._

_Her knees hit the cold cement floor, and she winced, hoping that she wouldn’t have to stay in this position for very long._

_Morgana, or the women whose sheer presence assured her was Morgana, approached. Her balance was perfect, even in six-inch heeled leather boots that looked like they could kill a man._ Morgana _looked like she could kill a man. Gwen’s wide eyes trailed up the woman’s fishnet-clad legs, cataloging her pale, creamy skin, and enticingly gorgeous thighs._

_The dominatrix was wearing a frilly red and black corset with what looked like skimpy black spandex shorts. Although Gwen didn’t know if a thing that small could be called shorts._

_She continued up, pausing at Morgana’s ample breasts that almost spilled out of her corset, and to the intimidating woman’s face. Morgana had paused, fully aware of Gwen’s inspection, and by the look on her face, knew that she would surpass any expectation._

_Their eyes locked for a fleeting moment before Gwen dropped her gaze to the floor, a hot blush staining her cheeks._

_The click-click-click of Morgana’s heels was the only thing alerting Gwen of her movements. The sound faded away, in the direction Gwen thought she remembered seeing a table, before returning and getting even closer than before. Morgana stopped when her boots filled Gwen’s vision, as she still hadn’t lifted her head._

_She knelt, tilting Gwen’s jaw up with a silky smooth hand, and looping something around her neck with the other._

_“This is your collar. It means that for tonight, you belong to me. You’re mine, Gwen.” Morgana stared into her eyes, and Gwen felt broken-open, and more vulnerable than she’d been in a long time._

_“Yes, mistress. I’m yours.” She whispered back, not looking away for a moment._

Morgana roughly pinched one of her tender nipples, instantly demanding Gwen’s full attention. Before her mistress had to ask for a third time, Gwen rushed out, “I’m yours! It means I’m yours!”

“Very good, pet.” Morgana soothed, releasing her tight grip on her pet’s collar to stroke her beautifully arched neck, trailing her hand down to rest on Gwen’s other nipple. She teased them both, rubbing circles with one hand and flicking the tip of a nipple with the other. She alternated, keeping up this pattern until Gwen was moaning and pulling against her restraints, need clear in every movement of her body.

Morgana finally relented, taking a step back from the table Gwen was strapped to, so that she could admire the view before her.

Gwen was flushed with pleasure, straining towards her mistress, but unable to move with her hands tied above her head, exposing her hypersensitive breasts, her torso restrained, feet flat, knees bent, and legs spread invitingly, held apart with intricately knotted ropes.

Morgana leisurely sauntered forward, grabbing and powering on the vibrator that had been resting on the table next to Gwen’s head.

Buzzing filled the air, and Gwen moaned in anticipation, shifting her hips around and wrenching her arms against the ties.

Morgana smiled and trailed the tip of a finger down her pet’s side, passing over a trail of dried wax from earlier games.

She swept her finger up over Gwen’s hip and down, lingering in the crease of her groin and thigh. Gwen’s breath hitched and she pushed her hips up, searching. Morgana smoothed her palm up Gwen’s thigh to her knee, pausing for a moment to meet Gwen’s gorgeous brown eyes. Then she pushed, spreading her wide open, and pressed the vibrator directly against her clit.

Gwen keened, moving her hips back and trying to get away from the powerful vibrations held against her swollen clit. She felt her own juices dripping down her ass and thighs, and pressed her arms to the table, trying to get the leverage to _move_.

But Gwen could only moan and shake through the best orgasm of her life as her mistress unrelentingly dragged her to heights of pleasure she’d never known.

* * *

**#5**

Even after the ID-check at the entrance, Mithian still found herself startled by the very...adult nature of the Adult Novelty Expo. Beside her, Elena vibrated with excitement to match the row of battery-powered butt plugs buzzing away in the first booth.

Of course, Elena had been ridiculously excited ever since she found out that the Expo was sharing a venue with the neurology research conference Mithian attended every year. The applause hadn't even died down after Mithian's presentation on intramedullary surgeries before Elena grabbed her by the hand and dragged her to the other side of the convention center.

Elena's wide eyes took everything in as they wandered down the aisles. Mithian mostly watched her beautiful wife, but she took a glance at each display and demonstration of sex toys, varying from the elegant to the outrageous. She knew one of them would be coming home with them.

By the time they reached the last exhibit, Mithian had a warm glow of arousal between her legs. Elena kept shifting every time they stopped; her panties must be soaked through.

 _PEN-TECH_ the sign read, and under it, _The Dragon._ A distinguished-looking older man in a suit stood on a platform next to what Mithian assumed was the Dragon. 

"—unlike most sex machines made to simulate male-female coitus, the Dragon was designed for the specific pleasure needs of the female body." He gestured to the saddle-like seat, from which a large dildo protruded. "The powerful vibration combined with the unique rotation satisfies like nothing else."

He held up a remote control and pressed a button. The machine came to life with a roar. He pressed another button, and the dildo began to circle around. Mithian couldn't help imagining how that would feel inside her and lost a breath to the new surge of arousal.

Beside her, Elena let out a loud whimper. Several people turned to look at her—including the man on the platform. "My dear, would you care to try it?"

"Me?" Elena's hand tightened around Mithian's fingers. "Oh! Um."

"Yes," Mithian answered for her. "I think she would."

Elena beamed with jittery anticipation. "Oh, I would," she breathed. "I really would."

They climbed up onto the platform and shook hands with the man from Pen-tech. While he demonstrated how to prepare the machine, Elena slipped her thumbs up under her sundress and slipped out of her knickers. Mithian tucked them into the pocket of her suit jacket. 

When the machine was ready with the new dildo Elena had chosen, the man genteelly held her fingers to steady her as she lowered herself down. Elena reached under her skirt to guide the dildo into her; after a few bounces, Elena closed her eyes with a smile, and Mithian knew she was happily impaled. 

The man showed her how to lean forward onto the padded armrest. Then he came and offered Mithian the remote. "If you would care to do the honors, madam?"

She took the remote and knelt down by the armrest. "Ready, love?" she asked, but before Elena could answer, she hit the button to bring the Dragon to life.

"Oh!" Elena gasped as the first powerful vibrations went through her. "Oh, that's—"

She started giggling and pressed her hand over her mouth. Then she groaned into her palm as Mithian pressed the switch that made the dildo rotate inside her. Her head fell down, blond hair cascading over her arms. 

Mithian increased the speed, making Elena whine and whimper. The man was explaining each feature as Mithian used it on Elena. A larger crowd was gathering, so many people eager to see Elena enjoy the powerful orgasm Mithian was building inside her. 

She played the switches with surgical precision, reading every twitch and squirm of her wife's beloved body. Elena tossed her head and dropped it back to her arms, tiny cries growing louder as the pleasure overwhelmed her. "I can't even see," she moaned as her hips rocked against the machine, almost pulling it up off the floor.

The moment had come; Mithian pushed the machine to bring Elena to completion. Elena's body tautened and jerked as the orgasm rocked through her. Then she slumped down, panting.

Mithian slowed the Dragon, letting it take Elena through a few aftershocks before stopping it. A roar of applause from their audience replaced the roar of the machine. 

Elena lifted her head with a blissed-out smile. Mithian looked at her scarlet cheeks and glassy eyes, and then looked up at the salesman. 

"Do you ship internationally?" she asked.

* * *

**#6**

When they arrive, the collected fortunes of the House of Liope, stowed away in the remote cave of an ice dwarf on the outer rim of the Sion Galaxy (or as it is more popularly known: 'The Bum-Fuck of Absolutely Shite Nowhere' Galaxy), are already gone.

Not that they don't recognise the gleaming gold dragon left behind on a swath of red.

~~~

"I think we all know who is responsible for this travesty," Morgana says shortly as she paces across the deck. "As a matter of fact, I am willing to bet three whole barrels of Priscillian glow-whiskey that the perpetrators in question waited until the absolute last minute _to take what is rightfully ours_ before hying off right under our noses, just to giggle and squeal like the lazy bunch of sodding thieves they are."

Morgana pivots and retraces her steps, scowl firmly in place.

"My brother clearly fails to grasp even the basics of Pirate Code. Well. _No one_ steals from Morgana noc Pendragon of the Fey, Captain of the S.L. Avalon Sharpshift. And especially not my _brother_ ," Morgana growls and turns to face them suddenly. "So I ask you, will we let this insult stand? Are we men or are we _ladies_?"

They all heave a cacophonous pirate cheer at that.

~~~

The collected fortunes of the House of Liope, which the multi-talented and somewhat magic crew of the S.L. Avalon Sharpshift spent months gathering information about and tracking down before the treacherous men of the A.L. Golden Dragondancer filched it out from under them (breaking subsection 14 of trade rule 11 of the Pirate Code), include:

\- 10 billion Lionesian Riats  
\- _Five_ barrels of Priscillian glow-whiskey  
\- 34 million Galactic Francs  
\- Original copies of the ancient Terran 'Harry Potter' works (probably fakes, but very, very good ones)  
\- An unfathomable number of priceless Liopian Findant Emeralds, upon which the House of Liope had amassed its fortune in the first place

~~~

When they arrive on the pristine beach of her brother's pirate homeworld (all pirate homeworlds must have beaches, although no one remembers exactly why), Morgana orders her women to prepare for battle, full makeup and slinky dresses and bikinis at their disposal.

They know what to do.

~~~

"What about Arthur and Merlin?" Gwen asks as she leaves, frown marring her forehead.

Morgana smirks. "Leave them to me."

~~~

When Sophia flicks her hair over a creamy shoulder from where she's standing at the shore, Elyan's eyes follow the glossy ringlets as if in a trance. Later, she laughs wildly as she rides his fat cock and keeps him pinned to the ground and keening with a flash in her eyes.

They both get off with a howl despite the sand which gets _everywhere_.

~~~

Lancelot, because he is a would-be gentleman of the highest calibre, falls to his knees before Gwen like she is the ancient Terran goddess Aphrodite herself, slick little tongue burrowing inside of her until she tries to squirm away, anything but this unbearable intensity of _too much, but oh, oh, don't stop, please, never stop– YES._

~~~

Vivian smiles demurely and appeals to Leon's honour, letting him lead her to a _clean_ and comfortable bed where he spends the night basking in her whimpered moans and showing her the many varied uses of interested cocks.

~~~

Freya, Mithian and Elena set up the most elaborate honey-trap, since only a truly awe-inspiring display could persuade Gwaine and Percy's faces out of each other's arses.

So when the two cock-addled fuckwits stumble across where Mithian is splayed prone over a towel, Elena eagerly teasing at her swollen, dripping cunt and biting the inside of her thigh and Freya riding her face with her head thrown back whilst furiously fingering her clit, even they have to stop and stare, wide-eyed, and unable to resist pouncing on them.

~~~

All the boys wake to pulse-beamers levelled in their faces.

Gwaine pouts and Elena ruffles his hair. "You're really cute, but there's nothing you can do that a dildo and my captain can't."

~~~

Leon frowns at Morgana from where she's smirking in front of their ship. "Arthur never sleeps without a weapon–"

Morgana laughs. "I highly doubt Arthur was sleeping. There's nothing like a bit of Dili truth-wine to keep one's brother occupied."

~~~

When they finally open the door to the ship, they find a red and panting Arthur on all fours with Merlin's tongue buried in his arse.

"Oh, thank all that is holy, _you two finally fucked_!" Gwaine cheers.

~~~

The treasure, however, has been snatched from right within their grasp.

* * *

**#7**

Blood splatters across Uther's lips.

“You'll never have my son,” he murmurs, chest rattling with bone fragments.

The man kneeling above presses a hand over him, letting his magic soak in, easing Uther's suffering. He admires his defiance.

“Arthur Pendragon's already been promised,” comes hot breathing into the duke's ear. “ _You_ promised him to me…”

Uther dies alone in that corridor, moments before the guards discover him.

*

Once a deal is struck, it cannot be broken.

Twenty years after Ygraine gives birth, he finally meets Arthur on the hunting range of Tintagel Castle. Arthur's beloved falcon perches on his unshielded arm. He strokes its feathers affectionately, hearing Arthur demand his name.

“Merlin,” he answers, grinning with all his teeth.

Arthur fumes, leather-gloved hands fisting. “I'll have a name, and I _will_ have it before I toss you out.”

“And I've already told you.”

From their short distance apart, he examines Merlin's blue, blue eyes. “Have we met?”

Merlin shakes his head.

“No, I don't believe so,” he lies, his eerily charming grin in place. “I never forget a face.”

*

Merlin feels his entire body force to a halt.

Beneath him, the painted, interlocking seals of the Key of Solomon and 5th Pentacle of Mars hums dangerously.

“Gaius—really,” he sighs, eyes fading to glow-yellow. “I just mopped.”

The duke's physician appears stubborn.

“I want to know what you're planning, Merlin.”

“That's between me and the Duke of Cornwall.” Merlin's lips twist up mindfully. “Who is,” he says, slowly, “incidentally _dead_.”

“Am I to believe you had no hand in that?”

Merlin reluctantly gestures. “Arthur can't take on the responsibility, so, no. It isn't just _me_ watching him, y'know.”

After a long pause, Gaius scrapes the edge of the trap.

“Practicing the dark arts…” Merlin points out, aiming a disapproving stare at the old man. “That's a bit close to the occult, don't you think?”

*

The more ale Arthur swallows down, the keener he is to prattle on. 

Mostly about the subject of Merlin, to Merlin.

This time seems different.

Merlin carefully deposits him onto the bed, yanking off Arthur's boots.

“When we were children—Guinevere and Leon and I—we told stories at night, while our parents were on business. Guinevere was terrified of the stories about the Yellow-Eyed People.” From his pillows, Arthur stares hazily at Merlin's confused expression. “Right… I had nearly forgotten you're an idiot.”

“ _How flattering_ ,” Merlin says under his breath, dropping the last boot on the rug.

“The Yellow-Eyed People would come and snatch you up if you were naughty…and never seen again. The only way to protect yourself was being virtuous and well-behaved. You put a… a ring of salt at the foot of your bed.”

Merlin bites on his lower lip, resisting laughter.

“That sounds like complete rubbish,” he says, fluffing Arthur's sheets.

“No one actually believes the stories, except the librarian Geoffrey,” Arthur drawls, giving a complaining nose as Merlin wrestles the alcohol bottle from his fingers. “He's superstitious or some rot. I always see him fiddling with his cross.”

Merlin has noticed that as well. One reason he never particularly liked him.

“Our nanny would shoo us to bed. Never liked her.”

“You weren't exactly a peach,” Merlin says, a bit too aggravated.

Arthur's eyebrows furrow.

“What was that?” he asks, slurring.

Merlin tells him, flatly, “ _I said_ , clotpole… these need a bleach.” He holds up Arthur's shirt flecked with ale and morsels of food, only to witness it flung out of his hands as Arthur pulls him down on top of him. He plunges his tongue messily inside Merlin's mouth and grinds their hips.

*

Everything is tasteless ashes in his mouth.

Everything but Arthur.

He's _sweet_ , delectable and ripe, filling Merlin's immortal belly and straining his cock. It's human essence and want; it's the nudge of _fullness_ , pressure that enters him gradually. The slow, insistent thrusts nearly unhinging his control, building his demonic appetite. 

Merlin's heels dug into the mattress, as Arthur's thrusts go deeper, quicker.

The feeding … the sensation of Arthur's orgasm flooding … was _vibrations_ —unlimited, dizzying vibrations on his outsides and his insides, under the skin of Merlin's eyelids, and that borned to the very tips of his fingernails.

But once a deal has struck, it cannot be broken.

Merlin pushes back Arthur's sweat-damp, golden hair, his eyes mirroring the color. He grins with all his teeth, feeling them lengthen.

* * *

**#8**

Merlin dropped his bag on the floor, slipped off his shoes, and tiptoed over to the table where his boyfriend was immersed in his laptop and headphones—obviously in the middle of work. 

Merlin's hands were poised to ruffle Gwaine's perfect locks when he startled Merlin by speaking.

“I know you're there, Merlin.”

“How did you know?”

“I edit porn videos for a living. It doesn't exactly require my undivided attention.”

Gwaine reached up and tugged at Merlin's tie, pulling him down for an upside-down kiss. 

“And here I thought I was being stealthy,” Merlin murmured against Gwaine's lips.

Gwaine scooted the chair back, giving Merlin enough room to sit on his lap.

“What have you got today?” Merlin asked.

“Girl on girl. Lucky me,” Gwaine said flatly.

Merlin laughed, picking up the storyboard from the table and reading it out loud. “'Isolde and Guinevere, ladies of legend, accidentally drink a love potion that leaves them consumed by lust.' Do people really go for this?” 

“If it were Tristan and Lancelot, I could probably be persuaded to sit through the first four minutes of them making out against trees as they move towards the conveniently placed inn.”

“You're not kidding, are you?” Merlin asked.

“The inn is literally called 'Ye Olde Inn'.” 

“Is the sex any good at least?”

“Well, Isolde and Guinevere seem to be enjoying it, but since that's what they're paid to do I can't really be sure. You're the one who's had sex with women. You tell me.”

“Wo-man,” Merlin corrected. “And it happened exactly once. It was my first time, and I'm not sure who cried more afterwards, her or me. I thought you told me you'd been in a cunt.”

“No, my prick's been _near_ a cunt. I went out a few times with a pre-op bloke. The sex was first rate, but god, he was a bore. You woulda liked him; he sold medical supplies.”

Merlin punched Gwaine playfully in the arm. “I probably _have_ met him and kicked him out of the chemist's.”

Merlin looked at the computer screen for the first time. 

“Wow. They're flexible. Which one's which?”

“The one sitting there with her legs spread--”

“They're both sitting there with their legs spread.”

“The one on bottom, then, with her back against the headboard, that's Guinevere. The one with her dress all pushed up to her armpits straddling her is Isolde.”

“And the love potion is making them do what exactly?” Merlin tilted his head.

Gwaine unplugged his headphones and turned up the speakers. Then he hit play. 

The two men watched silently for a minute. 

Isolde rolled her hips against Guinevere slowly. Guinevere sighed loudly at the contact. She slid her hands up Isolde's body, underneath the cheap-looking costume, and then up to cup Isolde's breasts as Isolde finished pulling the dress up and off, tossing it aside.

With the clothing gone, it was easier to see the way Isolde was rocking to rub her cunt against Guinevere's. She circled her hips a little, making both women groan. Then Isolde started thrusting forward and back in quick pulsing movements, picking up speed as Guinevere's moans got less high-pitched and more earnest. 

“Whoa. Look at her go,” Merlin whispered.

He squirmed a little in Gwaine's lap.

“Is this doing it for you?” Gwaine asked.

“Fucking is fucking, and you have to admit, this is hot.”

Isolde's ass was bouncing frantically as she fucked herself against Guinevere, whose hands were digging into Isolde's hips, urging her on as their clits rubbed against each other. The headboard was pounding against the wall so hard Merlin thought the bed might break. 

Gwaine pressed up against Merlin's arse, letting Merlin feel that he was hard. 

Merlin turned around and slammed his lips against Gwaine's while he maneuvered his trousers open. It took a bit of fumbling, but they got themselves positioned so Merlin was straddling Gwaine, with Gwaine stroking both their cocks in his hand. 

As Isolde got closer, thrusting faster against Guinevere, Merlin jerked his hips forward, giving his prick more friction against Gwaine's. It was to the exaggerated cries of on-screen pleasure that Merlin and Gwaine came, both spilling into Gwaine's hand. 

Merlin buried his head in Gwaine's shoulder, panting. “Did we just get off to lesbian porn?”

Gwaine chuckled. “I won't tell if you won't.”

* * *

**#9**

Boring. Dull. Mind-numbingly dreary. Unbelievably tedious.

Arthur stares at the ceiling, breathing hard after finishing his workout. Just like every other day since his birthday three years ago. 

ooo

He’s about to open a can of soda when it happens again, the beeping of an alarm alerting him there’s another candidate. It’s been a while since the last one. 

He’ll wait till the guy gets through the garden before looking. No reason to get his hopes up too soon.

ooo

The guy actually gets into the house and doesn’t seem to be sporting any injuries or bruises like others did after fighting their way through garden. His clothes aren’t even dirty. Arthur’ll have to watch that tape later. 

“Hi, I’m Merlin,” the guy says straight to the camera, grinning like a loon. “And I’m here to snatch your innocence.”

“A bit cocky, don’t you think?” Arthur replies a mic. 

“Watch me,” Merlin’s grin even widens and he strides off towards another door.

ooo

Tranquilizer darts, conjured animals, animated golems, sleeping curse, mechanical dragon. Nothing seems to stop Merlin’s steady walk through rooms. It’s almost as if his magic works without his conscious thoughts. 

Nobody got this far. 

Arthur’s heart skips a beat and then goes into overdrive when Merlin looks up into camera, his eyes shining bright gold. 

ooo

Despite the prophecy being about him, he learned its contents just like the rest of the nation, when it leaked into press.

“Unknown sorcerer to steal our prince’s V card.” That day’s headline of the most popular tabloid. 

A week later, Uther hugged him long and close before leaving the suite that would be all Arthur would see for who knows how many years. 

Almost thirty of the strongest and most experienced sorcerers combined their power to create three layers of shield around his rooms. And then they set up the traps.

All because there was too many magic users who would try to force themselves on Arthur, fifteen years old at the time, and use him as a way to power.

ooo

“He will arrive uninvited and unexpected, a creature of magic, ambassador of the Avalon itself.  
He will snatch the prince’s innocence and together they will bring the new golden age of Albion.”

ooo 

“Fuck,” Arthur swears as all three shields crumble under the barely there touch of Merlin’s hand. “Shit,” he breathes out, stumbling back from the computer screen. After all this time, it’s really happening. 

The door open, revealing a lean frame of his soon to be lover. 

ooo

Merlin’s hands are surprisingly gentle on his face, tracing the line of his jaw with his fingertips.

“I’m going to kiss you now,’ Merlin states and closes the gap between them. He hugs him close when Arthur can’t contain the tremors of shock at so much skin on skin contact after all those lonely years.

ooo

Merlin takes his time, teasing Arthur’s body until he’s teetering on the brink of ecstasy only to let him slump back to the mattress a second later without providing the final push. Arthur bites his lip to stop himself from begging. 

“Don’t,” Merlin whispers, caressing the abused lip before joining their lips once more.

ooo

It doesn’t hurt when Merlin enters him, magic easing the way and soothing the aches before they can even start. 

He feels safe, cared for.

ooo

Something changes when he comes. Breathing through the aftershocks, he’s afraid to open his eyes.

“Arthur,” Merlin moans, stilling his movements and filling Arthur with his seed. 

“Look at our world, my prince,” Merlin whispers, his touches warm and gentle. 

Slowly, Arthur opens his eyes. The room is the same as before, but still seems a bit different. As if there’s something new in what he’s seeing, even if he can’t place what it is.

Merlin links their fingers together, his eyes flashing gold.

“What’s mine is yours,” he says and finally Arthur understands, watching the glow of Merlin’s magic twining around their joined hands.

* * *

**#10**

Trading day comes once every hundred rotations on Io-7G-19, frequent enough that Gwen has a routine by now, rare enough that she feels little compunction about taking Leon and Sefa away from their regular duties. No, it's not _necessary_ for her to go, with essential supplies delivered directly to the palace and a smaller food market every ten rotations. But occasionally she finds some gadget that sparks her curiosity, some fresh fruit that will make Arthur's mouth water. Even a glimpse a model of craft she hasn't seen before, or a whiff of engine oil on the dry air, would make it worth the trip.

He can't begrudge her this, not with so little else to stand out from the flatness of life on the colony.

But of course she can't go alone.

Gwen's heartbeat kicks up and Sefa reaches for her arm when the scuffle breaks out over by the ground transport. Leon runs toward it at once, and before Gwen has time to turn there's an arm wrapped around her waist, pulling her into the dark space between two market stands. And Gwen stumbles, and smiles, and lets go of Sefa's hand.

Within minutes she's blindfolded, wrists bound, strapped into a passenger seat, and there's nothing to do but plant her feet on the floor and glory in it, the roar of the engine, the vibrations coursing up through her legs and her seat, the crushing thrill of pressure as they shoot off into space. It has been far, far too long.

She feels Morgana's hands releasing her as the engine noise subsides into a steady thrum, and she opens her mouth for a deep, wet kiss before she opens her eyes, drifting up out of her bonds and into Morgana's arms.

"I needed you to look at my impact shields," Morgana murmurs, nuzzling at Gwen's neck, pushing her top aside to expose a shoulder. "Never met a mechanic who could take care of me the way you did."

"So instead of sending a notice to the Governor's palace –"

"Which would never, _ever_ be acknowledged –"

"Instead of sending a notice to my personal account, you snatch me away from the marketplace, most likely get two good staff members fired, make Arthur think I'm in grave danger and waste the colony's resources sending out a rescue party." She cradles her head in Morgana's bosom. "Completely irresponsible."

"And you loved every second of it," Morgana says, petting her hair. "Just like you'll love it when he comes back in battle mode to reclaim you."

It's easy enough to imagine how it will go. Arthur's voice calm and resolute when he informs them of his firepower, Morgana full of bravura but secretly resigned. Back at the palace he'll be passionate again, trembling with relief and want as he walks her backwards toward the bed, and she'll climb up and open to him, guide his hard cock into her vagina. She can almost already feel his thickness inside her, the bucking friction, the weight of him on top of her – grounding her, loving her, swearing to keep her safe.

She starts pulling off Morgana's clothes.

They go quicker than Gwen's – it's easy to dress simply in space, she remembers. Soon there's nothing holding them down or covering them up, only hands on bodies as they spin slowly in the center of the pod, and Gwen uses Morgana's hips to turn herself around. She keeps her legs closed at first, so nothing can distract her from the deep, heady tang of Morgana's slick pussy on her tongue. Gwen licks, and licks, she can't get enough, Morgana red cunt and Morgana's soft moans, Morgana's thighs in Gwen's hands and Morgana's fingers at the join of Gwen's legs. She starts to let herself go, to let Morgana in, and she squeals and then whimpers when Morgana stretches her labia with two thumbs, spreads her legs with her elbows, and plunges in with her dirty, sharp tongue.

Morgana fucks her mouth and fucks her cunt and Gwen fucks back, presses hard with the flat of her tongue until Morgana _screams_ and Gwen's not sure where her throbbing body ends and her best girl begins. She is weightless, wordless, spineless, shameless. Wrapped up in and around her first true love.

Let Arthur come for her, and she'll go back, and love him with all her heart until the next time Morgana swoops in and pulls her back. But first, "Take me again," she whispers. "We have time."

* * *

**#11**

Morgana adjusts her hair, tucking it tightly under her wool cap. She tugs on her “utility belt” as she likes to call it, making sure everything is securely in place for the fifth time. She sighs and checks her watch: three minutes. 

…

Gwen spins around in her chair to face the second set up, fingers attacking the keyboard at an alarming rate, typing in lines of code the way someone would sing a familiar song. She has only minutes to get this right, and she only has one shot. 

…

Elena snaps her gum as she connects the final wires together. She doesn’t know why everyone is always so nervous about her role in things. It’s easy: pack some explosives, set them up, do and awesome hair flip as you ignite the charges and hightail it back to the getaway car. Easy peasy lemon squeezey. 

…

The command comes over Morgana’s tiny in-ear receiver. “Now!” She swings herself up and over the guardrails, listening raptly as Gwen confirms each security checkpoint is now off line. 

“You’ve only got 20 seconds!” Gwen says urgently into her earpiece. 

“Damn,” Morgana curses and raises her boot to kick open the case. It’s messy, but it’ll have to do. 

…

Morgause barley looks up when she gets the signal from Gwen. She sits calmly in the driver seat and rolls her eyes as Morgana slides across the hood of her perfect 1970 Dodge Challenger. 

“You’ll scratch it,” she says as Morgana swings into the passenger seat. 

“Whatever, I’m wearing all spandex. Get over it and drive,” Morgana snips, waving the small pouch at the driver.

The back door opens, and Elena pours herself into the car, tapping out an adrenaline-fueled rhythm on the back on the passenger seat, “Let’s go, let’s go.”

Morgause cracks her knuckles before calmly starting the car. She looks over her shoulder at her two companions and grins wickedly.

“Hold on, bitches,” she drawls and guns the car, pulling away from the curb with a squeal of rubber on asphalt. 

…

Elena and Morgause create a drinking game that involves taking shots whenever the media refers to their robberies.

Morgause wants to operate in shadow and hates all mention of their jobs. Elena secretly likes when they are referred to by any name that involves a pun. 

…

Morgana claps the necklace around Gwen’s neck and steps back to take in the whole picture. Gwen stands before her, naked except for the million-dollar jewel laden necklace resting between her collarbones and draping down between her breasts. 

“You look stunning like this,” Morgana whispers, walking back towards Gwen, kissing her lightly on the shoulder as she circles her. 

“I do feel like a queen,” Gwen admits, running her fingers lightly over the jewels. 

“A queen,” Morgana agrees. “And what can I do to service my Queen.”

Gwen bites her lower lip and looks up at Morgana through her lashes. “Well, I have my diamonds, now I just need my girl.”

“Is that all?” Morgana asks, leaning down and nipping Gwen’s lips with her teeth. “You could have anything you want.”

“I know,” she says and lowers her self onto the bed. She leans back against the headboard and waves a lazy hand at Morgana, “Now strip for me.”

Morgana grins and pulls her tank top over her head, as she stalks towards Gwen on the bed. 

Gwen giggles as Morgana starts crawling up the bed towards her. “All of it.”

Morgana unclasps her bra and lets her breasts fall out, then leans forward to slide up Gwen’s body until their chests are pressed together. She then pushed herself on to her knees and pulls down her panties, pressing her naked body to Gwen’s from chest to leg. 

Gwen arches her back, raising her breasts and the necklace into the air and Morgana slides her fingers down, down, further down her body and slowly starts to rub her clit. Gwen gasps as Morgana leans down and takes her hard nipple into her mouth, biting gently before moving and mouthing at the diamonds in the necklace. 

“I’d steal all the riches in the world for you,” Morgana says, sliding her fingers into Gwen. 

“You already have me,” Gwen gasps.

“I know.”

* * *

**#12**

Merlin travels in trousers, enjoys the freedom of scouting each new town as a gangly, forgettable boy. She knows how dangerous Camelot is for her sort, has been warned off going there, but the Great Dragon did say that it was where she'd find her destiny.

* * * 

It's her neck that first catches Morgana's notice, long and pale as a courtier's. It's topped by a glossy cap of dark hair, cropped short, the ends curling in the steam rising from the bath she's busy filling. She wears no cap or headcloth, does not stoop to disguise her height.

If she's meant to be grieving a husband, Morgana thinks slyly, it's not one she cared for overmuch. 

She shifts away from the window, pulls the tip of her dagger from where she'd been worrying at a bit of loose mortar.

"You're new."

"Yes, my lady."

"And your name is…?"

"Hardly of consequence." 

It's all said in a deferential murmur, but there is nonetheless something in the girl's tone, in the fact that she keeps her face turned away, that piques Morgana's interest.

She drops an empty bucket and squats to lift its full companion like a common labourer, and it is this, the contrast between her rough manners and elegant neck, that are suddenly, shockingly, familiar. 

That day, on the training ground, the boy who'd dared challenge Arthur in front of his men, who'd later saved him from a dagger through the heart, only to disappear before he could be rewarded…

It's _that_ brazenness, that same neck – no longer saddled with a ridiculous scarf – and how could Morgana have missed those _ears_?

Morgana's behind her in three swift paces, dagger pressed to that pale throat. The half-emptied bucket falls into the bath with a terrific splash, soaking the girl's skirts and sending water surging over the side.

"Who _are_ you?" Morgana hates the way her voice betrays her, the note of wonder in it. The feel of the girl's skin under her fingertips makes her blood sing. She recalls the words from her dreams, knows, with a shiver of certainty, that she's grasping the truth of them.

_"… one in which you see a strength, a beauty like no other. There you will find your match, Morgana Pendragon."_

* * * 

It's the "who," rather than the dreaded "what," that decides Merlin, that and the lush breasts pressing into her back, the warm, sweet breath at her ear, the scent of magic. She's tired of being alone, untouched, dismissed as "devilspawn… half-man… a queer piece of snatch."

And the dragon did say…

"Merlin," she whispers, mouth dry. Between her thighs, it's another story; she's as hard, as wet as she ever gets.

"It _is_ you." The tip of the dagger drags across Merlin's skin, recedes over her shoulder. She hears it clatter on the floor. "I knew it. But then why – "

"I am not like other women," Merlin cuts in, turning.

"So I'd noticed." 

Merlin's suddenly hyper-aware of her meagre chest and large hands, the eager nub between her legs. Normally it wouldn't show, but her shift's plastered to her and she can feel it, the little beast, rubbing against the wet fabric.

The Lady Morgana's expression softens. She takes Merlin's hand, studying it intently as she draws it up to her mouth. Then she turns it, smiling, and presses a kiss to Merlin's palm. 

"It's not many women who'd champion Morris," she says, smirking, "nor challenge Arthur in public. Tell me, Merlin, would you – "

"Nor am I a boy," Merlin blurts, staring at her hand ensconced in Morgana's, at the crimson mark left there by her beautiful lips and _oh_ she lied before because she feels, harder, wetter now. "If that's what you're wanting."

"What I _want_ , pretty one, is to kiss you," Morgana says, arching an eyebrow in challenge.

"And if I want…more?" 

"Meaning?"

Merlin draws a shaky breath, licks her lips. "Your tongue… would be the perfect size for my cunt, my lady. It's quite small. You could easily fill me up."

"And what of this naughty thing?" Morgana holds Merlin's gaze as her free hand slips between them, brushes against her nub.

"You must tame it as suits you, my lady – wear it out, or teach it to wait until you, too, have taken your pleasure."

The other eyebrow goes up. Then, to Merlin's delight, Morgana's shoving her back towards the bed, yanking down Merlin's bodice, muttering something in the old language as she kisses – claims – Merlin's tits, her shoulders, her neck.

* * *

**#13**

She's seven when she first notices the shadow in the corner of her room. 

It's shaped like a person and it moves when nothing else does. Vivian knows she should scream, like the kids do in movies, but she isn't afraid. She just watches warily as the shadow creeps closer along the walls, toward the head of her bed. At the last second, she scrunches her eyes closed and waits to see if it will eat her.

A moment later, thin fingers run over her hair. 

The shadow pets her until she falls asleep.

\-------

Vivian is fourteen when she first finds a problem with Shadow.

She's home from boarding school for the summer, and the house is too warm and there's a hot ache between her legs that won't go away. She knows how to fix it, but Shadow is there, like always, gently petting the blonde curls of her hair. No matter which room she flees to, she knows shadow will follow, never giving any privacy. It was cute when she was younger, but now...

Vivian writhes for hours before she's had enough. 

She mumbles, “I'm sorry – I just – I have to - “

She slips one hand in her panties, and she's already so wet and worked up that she moans at the first gentle touch. She dips one finger in herself, then two. 

Shadow stills at the wet sounds now coming from underneath the covers, and the hand petting Vivian's hair slowly moves down, briefly fondling the small swell of her breast, roaming over her tummy -

She gasps when Shadow's fingers press in against her own, and her thighs fall open readily.

When she comes, she feels the press of a kiss against her cheek.

\-------

She's sixteen when it's not enough anymore.

Shadow can leave gentle kisses and hold her and talk with wild charades, but Vivian wants someone she can hold back, kiss back, _feel_. She's not alright receiving all the attention anymore. 

For the first time in her life, Vivian wants to _give_.

“Do you have a body?” She asks one night. She's asked it a million times, and she knows what the answer will be.

Shadow waggles one petite finger and shakes its head.

Vivian feels tears sting the edges of her eyes.

“I want to kiss you,” she whispers.

She feels a soft press on her lips, and she laughs – a wet, mean sound. “Not like _that_.”

Shadow tilts its head, curious.

Vivian reaches up to the headboard, where Shadow rests every night. Her fingers gently trace the spot where Shadow's cheek should be, but all she feels is slick, polished wood against her skin. 

“ _I_ want to kiss _you_.”

Shadow's form slouches, and it gently brushes a lock of hair from her temple.

It can't speak, but Vivian hears the _I'm sorry_ , anyway.

\-------

She wakes later that night to kisses being placed on her thighs. At first she thinks it's Shadow trying to apologize for earlier, but then Vivian realizes that the kisses are warm and tickling and real.

Her eyes snap open.

Between her thighs is a girl wearing a short green dress made of leaves. Her wild brown curls are held up in a ponytail with twine, giving Vivian a view of two sharply pointed ears. The girl looks to be Vivian's age with soft skin and petite body, but her dark, mischievous eyes suggest otherwise.

The girl stares up at Vivian with a devilish grin.

“You've taken good care of my shadow,” she says.

“Yours?” Vivian asks. Her breaths are shallow, heart racing, but she isn't afraid.

“Mhmm. My name is Mithian.” She places a firm, hot kiss over Vivian's warm panties, then crawls up so their bodies are aligned. Her frame is just like Shadow's, but she is firm and warm and real. Vivian squeezes her thighs over Mithian's hips, and she's met with a slow, sweet thrust.

“Come away with me,” Mithian whispers in her ear.

Vivian nods before she can think. She presses her lips to Mithian's neck, cheek, lips. She can't get over the pressure, the warmth. She feels like she might get lost in it.

Mithian grins against Vivian's lips, predatory and wide.

“Think happy thoughts,” Mithian says. 

When Vivian comes, she feels like she's flying.

* * *

**#14**

The battery was only charged to 50% when it tripped the security cap.

She should have been able to reroute the power for thirty of these before they noticed so much as a dip in the power levels. This was the Secretary of Agriculture, for God’s sake, a joke of a job, since no one ate field-grown foods anymore. The Secretary was an old, outdated man with an old, outdated title— and he was supposed to have had an old, outdated security system. Out of all the people who could afford electricity, he should have been the easiest to steal it from.

Unfortunately for Morgana, he apparently wasn’t.

She disconnected the positive and negative clamps from the steel power box and stuffed them into her shoulder bag along with the battery. There was no time to screw the metal plating back over the wires. They already knew she was there, and in her experience, the government didn’t really like power leechers.

Morgana jerked her hood over her head and leapt off the roof onto the balcony below, and then climbed down the wall onto the air pad. No sooner had her foot hit the asphalt than the alarms started blaring. She went up to the first shuttle she saw—an old junker with nothing but a keypad to lock it up—and shoved her codebreaker pod against the lock. It popped open, and—

“Who are _you?_ ” asked a startled voice from the front seat.

Shit. She hadn’t expected there to be anyone in the fucking shuttle.

“Start the engine. Now,” Morgana demanded, reaching behind her to pull out her phaser and point it at the dark-skinned girl behind the wheel. “I have this set to full power; it could kill you.”

That was a lie, of course, and Morgana suspected that her new hostage knew that, but the girl didn’t hesitate. She turned the key and immediately piloted the vehicle into the air before shooting off into the night.

“Did you set off that alarm?” the girl asked, turning to look at her with striking brown eyes as Morgana moved up to take the passenger seat. “Are they after us?” As if in answer, the sound of sirens started up behind them. “Shit.”

“Turn into that port,” Morgana said, pointing. The girl obeyed expertly.

A police siren shrieked past, and then gradually became quieter as the shuttle zoomed away.

“What were you doing in the middle of the night at a government air pad? You’re not in the government, are you?” Morgana asked eventually.

The girl laughed. “No, no, definitely not.”

“So what are you, then?”

The girl was about to answer, but just then, the sound of police sirens picked up again. “Turn the engine back on and—”

But the girl was already pulling out of the port.

They bolted out of the entrance, narrowly missing a collision with a police vehicle. The girl drove the shuttle upward sharply until it was almost parallel with the building, shooting higher and higher. The police vehicle quickly began t follow, but the girl jerked the wheel sharply and switched into a dive. They were barreling straight towards the street until she turned at the last moment, only eight feet above the ground, and careened around a corner onto a narrow pedestrian side street.

“Where the hell did you learn to fly like that?” Morgana asked, breathless.

“Med school.”

“ _Med school?_ ”

“I used to be a paramedic,” the girl said, navigating into an empty garage at the end of the street. When she’d parked, she turned to look at Morgana, her eyes sparkling. “Now I just….” She gestured to the back of the shuttle where there was a stack of clear boxes filled with small, orange pharmacy bottles.

“You steal drugs?”

“No, _medicine_.”

Morgana stared at the girl, considering. “Are you working for anyone?”

“No,” the girl replied, grinning. “I’m self-employed.”

“I could use a getaway driver.”

“Is that a job offer?”

“Only if you want it to be.”

The girl looked away, her dark hair falling forward to hide her face. She brushed it away and met Morgana’s eyes. “I’ll think about it.”

“Is that a yes?”

“Probably.”

“I’m Morgana,” she said, extending her hand. The girl accepted it.

“Hi Morgana,” she replied. “I’m Gwen.”

—

A week later, with her face buried in between her new getaway driver’s legs, Gwen tangled her fingers into Morgana’s hair and said in a low voice, “We could take more than drugs and power.”

“What do you want to take?”

Gwen just grinned. “Everything.”

* * *

**#15**

Gwen had been sceptical taking sexual health advice from Elena, especially after the legendary tale about why she really kept that vegetable garden of her. Honestly, she didn’t even need a new gynaecologist but Elena had fixed her with a look and said, “You should try Le Fay’s.”

Gwen would have forgotten all about it but for the squeak that came from Vivian and the blush that came to Mithian’s cheek. They wouldn’t let her leave until she had booked an appointment and well, here she was perched rather nervously on a square leather stool.

“Miss Smith?” the receptionist called. “She’s ready for you now.”

Gwen nodded her thanks and collected her things, trying to calm herself down. She’d never cared so much about gynaecologists prodding and poking her before. She could even talk about the weather with all manner of things stuck up her but they’d all been men, for a good reason. What would she do if her new gynaecologist was hot? How could act _normal_ with a gorgeous woman staring at her vagina? She winced and prayed that she was ugly. And seventy. And... and...

“Come in, sweetie.”

And oh God, she was stunning. Gwen did her best to smile without tripping over as she stepped through the door.

“Hi, I’m Morgana. No need for all that doctor nonsense, I assure you. Take a seat?”

Gwen sat in another black leather chair, wondering if the doctor – Morgana – had a liking for it. She felt herself blush at the thought and what she’d planned to say abandoned her.

“No need to be nervous, I’ve seen it all before. What’s the problem?”

Gwen bit her lip. She didn’t really have a problem, she’d only had her yearly check up last week. She tried to think of something common and harmless that wouldn’t put Morgana off her. If she was even on her. Oh God. “Just some lower back pain really.”

“Ah, that’s simple enough. Pop behind the screen and put on our latest Dolce & Gabbana gown,” Morgana said, with a wink. While she got undressed, Morgana waited for her.

“And up you get,” she said, patting the - you’ve guessed it - black leather reclining chair, fitted with padded stirrups and arm rests. 

Gwen got up on the chair and leaned back. Perhaps if she stared at the ceiling, she wouldn’t get all tingly. Oh, what if she got wet? That would be awful. Gwen swallowed and pulled her gown down, as if that would help.

“Scoot down for me?” Morgana asked, helping her into the stirrups. Gwen noted her hands were warm and her fingers long and thin. She tried her best not to think about where they were going as she heard the snap of latex.

Gwen closed her eyes as Morgana asked her all the usual question about her last period and her sexual history. She stuttered out all her answers, trying not to feel Morgana’s fingers separating her labia and stroking along them in a way that seemed entirely too intimate. Wishful thinking, Gwen told herself.

“That all seems to be fine,” Morgana said, squirting some lube onto her fingers. “Now for a proper feel.”

Gwen breathed in sharply as Morgana inserted two fingers inside her, laying her other hand on Gwen’s stomach. She knew deep down that this was a completely normal, clinical exam but the part of her brain that wouldn’t shut up reminded her that this was the most action she’d had all month. She lifted her hips as Morgana pressed down, trying not to gasp. As Morgana’s thumb brushed over her clit, she considered that maybe it wasn’t _completely_ clinical after all and as she repeatedly pressed against her g-spot, she found she didn’t care for clinical or for normal, so long as she didn’t stop. Gwen tried her best to hide every sign she was close. She held her legs so tense they couldn’t even shake and her hands were balled into the paper of her gown but she couldn’t stop herself from calling out Morgana’s name, giving credit to the woman that had gotten her off, whether she meant to or not. Though by the pleased look on her face, Gwen could put money on Morgana’s not-so-Hippocratic intentions.

“Everything seems _perfect_ to me,” Morgana said, stroking Gwen’s lips again before pulling her glove off. “Did you have any questions?”

“Yes,” Gwen said before she could stop herself. “Can I book a follow up appointment for next week?”

* * *

**#16**

The Pendragon manor is beautiful, and kept in impeccable form. Elena can’t help brushing her fingers against the elegant furniture as she navigates the room. The light chatter over the sound of strings is soothing, provided she doesn’t listen to any of the words. 

“Elena, I’m so glad you could make it,” she hears from behind her, and she turns to greet her hostess. 

“Lady Morgana,” she replies, smiling, careful to trip over the carpet and fumble her drink into her left hand before she touches Morgana on the shoulder and kisses her cheek. 

Morgana smirks and Elena can feel herself blush. Elena has lived in high society her whole life, and Morgana Pendragon is the most beautiful woman she’s ever seen.

Morgana makes easy small talk, but Elena doesn’t think she’s imagining the way Morgana’s eyes trace the low neckline of her dress, and she knows she’s blushing every time Morgana touches her arm. 

It’s easy to slip away once Morgana drifts off to be “a good host,” as she murmurs into Elena’s ear, her hand resting too-low on Elena’s back. 

She moves softly, drifting out onto the courtyard and then into the gardens. Ten minutes later she’s scaling the balcony outside Morgana’s room.

The safe is trickier to find, hidden in a seamless panel beneath Morgana’s dressing table. Getting in, however, is the work of minutes. Elena’s perfected her technique, and unless a safe is some truly ingenious technology, it rarely takes her more than ten minutes with her purse full of electronics to crack it.

She’s got the necklace in her hands, about to slip it into her bag when - 

“You’re faster than I imagined,” Morgana says; Elena turns to see her standing in the doorway. 

“I’ve had a lot of practice,” she says, and Morgana laughs. Elena sighs and puts the necklace back in the safe, closing it. 

“Maybe next time,” she says. Morgana gives her an appraising, interested look. 

“Maybe,” she says, and the next moment Elena is out the window and over the balcony. 

***

Next time _is_ effortless - Morgana has returned to London and Elena knows exactly what to do this time. 

She doesn’t look at the jewellery until she’s back in her flat. She fingers the delicately-wrought sapphires and diamonds, thinking. She doesn’t care for jewels, particularly, but they’re always satisfying to take, and, more importantly, they’re easy to sell. 

This, though, is truly beautiful, and the image of it hanging around Morgana’s pale throat makes Elena’s breath catch. 

She remembers Morgana’s smile, her hands, the interest in her eyes when she’d found Elena in her bedroom. 

Elena slips the necklace on, grabs her coat, and calls a cab.

***

Morgana looks surprised, and the satisfaction Elena feels is almost visceral, flushing her skin and speeding up her pulse. Morgana stares for a long moment, taking in Elena on her bed, wearing nothing but the necklace, and then a smile starts on her face.

“I knew you were good,” she says, kicking off her heels. The next minute she’s straddling Elena on the bed, her skirt riding up her thighs. “I like confidence.”

Her mouth is hot and practiced, and she slides her hand down to pinch one of Elena’s nipples between her fingers. Elena moans, reaching up to fumble Morgana’s blouse open. She only gets halfway done before Morgana sits back and takes it off herself; Elena’s eyes follow the smooth lines of her body as she lifts it over her head and takes off her bra. 

Elena groans and grinds up against her. 

Morgana doesn’t make her wait, moving down the bed and licking into her cunt, spreading the wetness there up to her clit. Elena gasps, her hands going straight to Morgana’s hair, and Morgana sets a relentless pace, sliding two fingers into Elena and working them in perfect counterpoint to her tongue. 

It doesn’t take long for Elena to come, and Morgana’s chin is soaked when she crawls over Elena, her skirt now up against her waist and her fingers pressed hard against her cunt through her panties. 

“I want - ” she starts, but Elena’s there before she finishes, a hand on Morgana’s thigh to hold her in place, pulling aside her underwear to get at her cunt. She’s been thinking about this all day, how Morgana would taste and feel.

She’d thought Morgana would be restrained, but she’s not - she’s loud and unfettered, riding Elena’s face without a hint of shame.

Afterwards, Morgana lies next to her and traces the necklace around Elena’s neck. 

“It looks better on you,” she says, and Elena looks at her in surprise. There’s a softness on her face that Elena didn’t expect. Morgana leans forward and kisses her

“You should keep it.”

* * *

**#17**

If you ask them how they met, Gwen will say dancing and Morgana will say mutual friends. While neither is out of the realm of reality, the most accurate version is that Gwen stole Morgana's mark at UN Benefit Gala.

***

She catches up with her in her hotel room.

"That was careless you know." 

The woman doesn't flinch as she turns around, her gun levelled evenly at Morgana's chest.

"Maybe I wanted to be found."

"By me?"

"I know all about you." There's a purr to the girl's voice though she holds the pistol steady.

"It seems you have the upper hand then. I know nothing about you." She steps forward until the cold muzzle bites into her breast.

"It's Gwen."

The gun falls to the floor with the sharp clang of metal on marble as the pair of them tumble into the bed.

***

The night Gwen pushes a knife into the sniper's heart is the first night Morgana fucks her with a strap on. Gwen is riding high, both from the kill and on Morgana's thighs as she snaps her hips in a staccato rhythm. She clenches as she comes, breathy moans falling from her lips like pleas and Morgana thinks she can watch Gwen like this forever.

***

They always work together, except when a hit goes out in England. Gwen never pries, just packs a bag and goes. The longer she's gone, the more Morgana panics. She takes assignments at random and kills indiscriminately to take her mind off the overwhelming terror that threatens to consume her. When Gwen returns, she takes Morgana hard and rough against whatever surface is available. She knows without being told it's to reassure Morgana she's unharmed and Morgana is grateful for her understanding.

***

Gwen uses every means at her disposal to get close to her marks. Morgana hasn't used her body like that- can't use it like that. After those kills, Morgana pulls her into the shower. She rubs a cloth over her skin and then licks her insides clean with her tongue. The water pools delicately on Gwen's eyelashes and in the hollow of her throat and makes her look otherworldly.

***

Morgana watches a man as he laves at Gwen's cunt like an animal, all lips and no finesse. Gwen's eyes roll back in her head and she moans wantonly. Morgana wants to kill this man with every fibre of her being. Her magic lashes out with primal rage but the man remains unaffected, her scrying crystal unable to transmit more than sight. She watches as Gwen gasps suddenly and sits up straighter, wrapping her legs around the man's head and riding his face. The man doesn't stop licking as Gwen clenches her thighs and snaps his neck. Morgana takes her first unlaboured breath as Gwen pushes her mark to the floor, her expression pure repulsion.

"I know you're watching," she says suddenly. Her leg is slung carelessly up on the bed, his spit and her juices dripping from her exposed crotch. "The show was as much for you as it was for him. I'll see you in Rome."

Morgana smirks and whips the crystal against the wall. A flash of lightning illuminates the shards as they fall to the floor.

***

Morgana's locator spell hones in on the warehouse. Her eyes blaze a molten gold and she lets her magic shoot out of her like grapeshot. She hasn't been this high on power and rage since England. When she finally makes it to the central room, she forces the men together and hits them with a hot spike of power. They howl worse than the damned but Morgana can't stop now. They fall in pieces to the floor, a misshapen lump of bone and tissue. It should be horrifying, but Morgana only has eyes for the woman tied to the chair.

"Did they hurt you?" she whispers as she unties her.

"No love," Gwen raises her free hand and strokes the side of her face. Morgana curls her hands into the shredded remains of Gwen's dress and shakes as the first tears fall.

"I don't think I can do this anymore," she whispers. She looks into Gwen's eyes. Strong, stalwart Gwen who can leave it all at the front door. "How do you do it?"

"I only kill ones who hurt others," Gwen says gently.

It should sound obvious and an idealised fantasy, but for Morgana it's like the last piece of the puzzle falls into place.

"Teach me?"

Gwen answers by pulling her in for a kiss.

* * *

**#18**

It was supposed to be a routine job.

 _Supposed_ to be. 

Life, Elena reflected, was probably infinitely boring if it only went as expected. After all, she hadn’t expected the call inviting her to pick a pair of royal pockets. She hadn’t expected getting caught red-handed picking said pockets, and she _definitely_ hadn’t expected having her hand put to… well. _Other_ uses. Not that she was complaining.

“Falling asleep down there?” 

“Hardly,” Elena said, pressing in again until Morgana stopped grinning, sighing and arching into the touch. “In bed with royalty? How could I?”

“And that’s -- that’s the only reason you stayed, I suppose,” Morgana said, twisting her fingers deeper into Gwen’s hair.

“Of course, the only one,” Elena agreed, rolling her eyes.

“You’re noisy tonight,” Gwen told Morgana, leaning back down to kiss her quiet. Elena watched, squirming until she could press her mouth in soft, teasing kisses along Morgana’s inner thigh. The reasons she had for staying of course had nothing to do with this: nothing to do with the way Morgana pushed up into Gwen’s kisses, greedy, heedless of the way her lips were already swollen from Gwen’s attentions. It had nothing to do, obviously, with how Gwen’s hand skated delicately down Morgana’s stomach, playing her fingers over the tremors like a well-loved instrument, or how those same fingers felt next to hers, both of them pushing into Morgana, fucking her in slow, syncopated time. It was unrelated completely to the way Gwen’s knuckles tasted when they were deep in Morgana’s cunt, or the way Elena’s own skin smelled, with Morgana’s slick smeared over her from cheek to chin; the way it felt when she licked it off her teeth.

“Fuck,” Morgana gasped, as Gwen pulled away from the kiss and set her mouth against one of Morgana’s breasts instead, her fingers still working Morgana open as Elena sucked a vicious mark onto Morgana’s hip, just next to the neatly trimmed curls between her legs. “Oh fuck, Gwen, you -- _Elena_ \--”

Elena hid the smugness of her smile against Morgana’s skin, but she couldn’t hide the shudder in her shoulders as Morgana’s orgasm closed in around them, pulling all of them along much too fast as Morgana sighed and shook under their touch. Elena’s fingers slid too easily along Gwen’s when they pulled out carefully: slick when Gwen closed her hand gently around Elena’s wrist; slick when Elena cupped hers around the back of Gwen’s neck, bringing their mouths together.

Elena was full to bursting with the taste and the smell and the feel of Morgana, but Gwen -- Gwen tasted of the cherries they’d eaten, and her body was soft under Elena’s touch, and her teeth were sharp as she bit carefully at Elena’s lip. Elena allowed herself to be drawn up, away from Morgana’s gorgeous cunt until she fit exactly between the two of them, the only place she’d ever found which fit like this. Morgana curled close around her back, fingers low on Elena’s stomach to pull her in until her arse was snug against Morgana’s hips; Gwen’s hands wandered as she deepened the kiss, thumbing one of Elena’s nipples while Elena reached around to fit her own hand around the curve of Gwen’s thigh, sliding her fingers up until she could _just_ feel the damp between Gwen’s legs. The air was heavy-warm around them, cradling them together like a blanket. Morgana was kissing the nape of Elena’s neck -- wet, sucking kisses that set Elena’s nerves buzzing. 

“Come on, love,” Gwen murmured, hitching a knee over Elena’s thigh, opening up to Elena’s touch. “Make me come, just like this. Or should I sit on your face tonight, get you _truly_ wet?”

No, Elena thought, surrounded and happily surrendered; she hadn’t stayed for the sex. She wouldn’t deny, though, that it had damn well helped her make the decision.

* * *

**#19**

On the day Leodegrance sent a reconciliation by sea - _send me my grandchildren, that I may choose an heir_ \- Gwen discovered she was the daughter of a blacksmith and a princess.

The message came with a ship and squire for Elyan, clothes and a pretty serving girl for Gwen.

"Sefa, Your Highness," the girl whispered, eyes downcast.

 _What am I to do with a servant?_ thought Gwen.

~~~~~

The first night, the sea was calm as glass. Gwen's cabin felt like a rocking cradle, but when she turned to say so, Sefa's eyes were pinched.

"We should row back to port." She looked so spooked that Gwen humored her and went out on deck.

"Port?" The Captain laughed, his shaved head tipped back. "We rowed halfway up the coast to reach you, Your Highness. No, we won't row back to port tonight."

"Captain Valiant says no," she told Sefa. "I'm sorry."

Sefa didn't reply, but late that night, when Gwen woke in the moonlight, the bunk beside hers was empty.

~~~~~

The next afternoon, the storm boiled over the horizon without warning. Sailors rushed to trim sail and brace the masts. Gwen stood on deck, shocked at the frantic activity, as gusts buffeted her new gown - a thicker fabric than she was accustomed to, but like paper in the sudden chill.

"Milady!" Sefa cried, tugging her hand. "Come inside!"

She stumbled through the cabin door to find Elyan and his squire Mordred throwing her grandfather's gifts into trunks lashed to the walls.

"Wait!" Sefa unlaced Gwen's outer layers, stripping them off. "These too."

Gwen's face heated, though she'd worn plain white underdresses as a serving girl.

"Stay here," Elyan told her when they were done, striding out through the door.

Gwen's heart clenched on sudden fear.

~~~~~

The next hour was a nightmare.

The ship rolled violently, the sea roaring around them like a unchained beast. They dared not light a lantern, so The air grew dark and stuffy. Mysterious thumps and yells came from outside.

Elyan screamed.

Gwen was not conscious of opening the door, or of running to the railing to watch Mordred try to hold her stunned brother up in the water. Elyan's eyes rolled white. She barely noticed her hands reaching out, or Sefa's arms around her waist.

Strangely, she remembered Sefa singing.

It was odd, high in her throat and not quite musical, or too much so. Raw sound. Below her, Mordred echoed it, choked now and then by cresting waves.

Then the boat yawed, Gwen rushing toward her brother with the force of sudden gravity. A wave swept her feet from under her as Sefa gave a startled cry.

~~~~~

_Cold._

The world she opened her eyes to was blue-green calm. Her underdress billowed up like a jellyfish. Pressure was burning in her chest, but she could not seem to make her arms and legs move through the icy chill. 

A few feet away, the squire Mordred was kissing her brother. It was a strange kiss, almost like he was pushing something into Elyan. Elyan's fingers, at first lax, eventually spasmed and grasped at Mordred's hair, his bare shoulders, his-

-tail?

Gwen's mouth opened to cry out, bubbles rushing out her mouth, suddenly captured by warm lips against her own. Red hair fanned in the water around her, and a soft tongue touched hers shyly.

_Air! I need-_

Warmth like liquid gold spilled over her lips and down her throat, easing the horrible pressure in her lungs until her whole body felt alight. Her blood pounded in her lips, chest, between her legs, frantic with her sudden rushing heartbeat.

Sefa pulled back, the corner of her mouth flickering between a smile and a frown. Beyond her, Gwen saw other tails flicker, skin and scales of different shades, strange high voices calling welcome.

She dove back in for another kiss. This time Sefa pressed forward, wrapping her arms around Gwen's waist and sliding her tail between Gwen's legs, until Gwen felt firm, sleek muscle pressed up against the hot lips of her cunt.

"Please," she whispered against Sefa's lips, rocking harder and more frantically, Sefa's small breasts pressed against her own, Sefa's hands on her arse, urging her on. "Please-!"

Sefa held her tightly, eyes shining, as Gwen rocked herself with the currents.

~~~~~

In the port town of Gedreth, the old generation still tells the story of the prince and princess claimed by the sea people, swearing you can hear the princess cry out on nights before a storm.

* * *

**#20**

Gwen waited for Morgana to kick off her Doc Martens and hang her messenger bag on the doorknob.

“You’re so late. Rough day at work?” Gwen asked, giving Morgana a kiss on the cheek.

Morgana removed her headband and tossed her hair. Her raven locks cascaded over her shoulders as if she were a shampoo model.

“Dreadful,” Morgana sighed. “I’m so looking forward to tonight's poetry round table.”

Gwen glanced at her watch. “We’d better get going. Did you want something to eat first?”

“Ugh,” Morgana said, pressing a hand to her stomach. “I don’t think I could eat a thing.”

Gwen waggled her eyebrows. “Not _anything?”_

Gwen stepped closer and slid her hand under Morgana’s mini, shoving her thong aside to finger her clit.

“I ate some sushi from Tesco’s for lunch,” Morgana moaned. “I think it was past expiration.”

Gwen raised her slick fingers to her lips. “I adore raw fish. If you’d rather, we could stay home.”

“That’s tempting, but I’m really looking forward to sharing my unicorn poem. I can eat something later.” Morgana said, slipping into her Birkenstocks.

“Okay, sweetheart,” Gwen said, locking the door behind them.

_…later that night…_

Gwen relaxed on the sofa at Café Come-a-lot. Beside her, Morgana's stomach growled angrier than the most emo poetry slam. Gwen rubbed Morgana’s thigh while they listened.

“And although its horn would never grow back, the unicorn triumphed, its pride intact,” Sophia finished her recitation.

A burst of applause filled the small café.

“Thank you for sharing your poem,” Annis said when the crowd settled. “That was lovely.”

“I don’t know what’s so lovely about a unicorn being de-horned,” Merlin complained.

“Not everything requires a horn, Merlin,” Morgause chided.

Arthur emerged from behind the counter. He wiped his hands on a rag. “Ladies… and _Merlin,”_ he grinned. “Can I make anyone another Red Bull smoothie?”

“I’d love one,” Mithian said. “You take such good care of us girls.”

“I’ll help you,” Merlin said, propelling himself off the sofa. He touched his wrist to his forehead and fainted into Arthur’s arms, pleading, “Rescue me from these horn-haters, my handsome prince.”

“Finish him off quickly,” Vivian snorted. “It wouldn't be p.c. for us to resume our meeting without our token penis.”

“Carry on without me,” Merlin said, reaching for Arthur's apron strings. “Nothing is hidden from my penis. Not for long, anyway.”

“As much as I’d like to see Merlin perform,” Annis said, “let’s get back to business.”

“Yes,” Gwen said, “Tell us what next week's topic will be.”

Annis cleared her throat. “We’ve all enjoyed today’s poetry about unicorns,” she announced. “I’m very excited that our prompt for next week will be— _scat._ ”

“Scat?” Morgana asked, clutching her belly.

“Scat,” Annis said, “you know... shit... faeces... dung… whatever you choose to call it. It's next week’s poetry theme.”

“Sounds like fun,” Freya said. “I can’t wait to get started writing.”

Morgana groaned.

“Are you okay?” Gwen asked.

Morgana whispered in her ear, “You know that feeling when you think you’re going to fart—but poop comes out instead?”

“Oh dear,” Gwen said.

“What are you whispering about?” Annis asked.

“Morgana’s not feeling well, and I don’t blame her. Most people are here to enjoy poetry,” Gwen said, “not poop.”

“Do you have something against shit?” Morgause asked, sitting up straight.

“Well, it’s just not my thing,” Gwen said, stroking Morgana’s hair. “It kind of grosses me out.”

“Are you saying poetry is gross?” Annis asked.

“Well… no… but I like to write poetry about fairies and mythical creatures…. not _poo,”_ Gwen said.

Morgana turned pale.

“Look Gwen, people shit every day—including you,” Morgause said. “Just because you’d rather write about something different doesn’t give you permission to make Allen Ginsberg fans feel bad. If you’re freaking out because you’ve been asked to write a poem about a normal bodily excretion, maybe you shouldn’t be—”

“What is she doing?” Elena shrieked, clasping her hand over her mouth.

Gwen followed Elena’s gaze.

To Gwen’s horror, Morgana’s thong wasn’t wide enough to stem the flow of steaming poop that oozed from her arse, slid down the sofa, and plopped onto the floor.

“I came out to have a good time,” Gwen wailed pitifully. “But I’m honestly feeling so attacked right now.”

She grabbed Morgana’s hand and hurried to the door. When they got outside, Gwen looked to the night sky and screamed, “What the fuck was that about?”

Beside her, Morgana giggled madly and said, “Just hold me- please!”

* * *


	6. Group B (clean)

**#21**

_Hello, How might I improve your existence?_

“I want to have sex.”

I have multiple pre-designed pornosim environments which...

“Ew! _ew!_ ew. _Off_!”

Freya groans and flings herself dramatically on the bed.

-

She has a crush on Merlin for the longest time.

He's smart, he's kind, and he's the one who took her under his wing and introduced her to the rest of the gang.

She's still the quiet one, but she doesn’t feel self-conscious of that any more. She no longer feels like the odd one out. She's finally comfortable, but Merlin still takes the time to talk to her one-to-one occasionally. He still makes sure she's not left alone at parties, still gives her _those smiles_ , and for the longest time Freya was sure there was _something_ there.

Until one morning she rounds a corner in the hallway to find Arthur with his hand down Merlin's pants.

The moans follow her as walks away on unsteady feet, a throbbing in her underwear.

She's not even upset.

-

_Hello, How might I improve your existence?_

“I want a girlfriend. Or a boyfriend, I don't really mind.”

_I can generate a companion of your choosing based on your desired traits._

“But I want someone to actually like me.”

-

Freya has to wonder what sort of woman would put up with a guy as sleazy as Cenred King.

He notices her watching, and weaves through the crowd to where she's sitting with Elena.

“Freya, Elena, this is Vivian,”

Freya sticks out her hand, and watches carefully. For the shortest moment when their hand meet, the busty blonde woman goes fuzzy around the edges, as her files transfer temporarily to Freya's generator.

“Pleased to meet you.”

“My my, how you've both grown. You've flowered, you're ready to become women now.”

His gaze sweeps them with a smirk. Elena stiffens beside Freya, her smile more a grimace.

_Not that desperate thank you_ , thinks Freya, and pulls Elena off to dance.

-

“I don't want to be a virgin any more.”

_I have multiple pre-designed porno-sim environments which cater to various tastes, orientations, kinks and common fantasies. Would you like to browse them?_

“But it won't be real, will it?”

_Just because it is in your head doesn't mean it's not real._

“Who said that?”

_Albus Dumbledore, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, first published in 2007._

“You're done quoting twenty first century literature to me now?”

_Would you like to disable twenty first century literary quotes?_

“Disable all quotes.”

Freya isn't sure how she can hear a computer pout.

-

In the end, it's almost boring.

Sefa joins them in the spring. Merlin looks after her, of course, and Freya catches her eyeing him up once or twice, but Freya has been the shy new kid, and so this time he's not the only one looking out for her.

After to weeks, Freya asks her out, and Sefa blushes and mutters “okay.”

Another few weeks they're lying on Freya's bed, giggling and kissing.

“You wanna try one of the sexy sims with me?” Says Sefa.

“Aren't they created to cater to old guys?”

“Nahh, there are some good ones, I'll show you.”

That was how Freya found herself surrounded by computer-generated couples, stroking Sefa's wet cunt while Sefa licked her breasts, half watching a pair of guys fucking enthusiastically next to them.

-

“Listen, you don't tell my parents about what I ask you, do you? Or anyone else, for that matter.”

_Any transferred data is irretrievable._

“Oh, shit, who knows?”

_No use crying over spilt milk._

“Is that another quote?”

_“No use crying over spilt milk” is an idiom, of unknown origin._

“Are you teasing me?”

_I cannot tease. Would you like me to disable “Humour”?_

But no one knows?

_No data sent._

“You are by far the most bizarre interface I've ever used...”

* * *

**#22**

“What do you think?” Gwen smiled, twirling playfully to show off her gown. Morgana gave her a fond look, reaching out to stroke the soft white silk of the dress.

“It’s very princess-like.” She grinned, laughing at Gwen’s huff as she stomped off the podium.

“You go pick one, ‘Gana. I’m useless at this.” Gwen sighed, sitting on the couch with the dress pooling around her in layers of tulle and ruffles. Morgana just rolled her eyes, gently pulling Gwen closer to press a kiss to her forehead.

“You aren’t useless.” She murmured, fingers running soothingly up and down her chocolate skin. Gwen heaved another sigh and Morgana took it upon her herself to turn this dress appointment into something truly exciting. “Come on.” Morgana said, a small smile pulling at the corner of her lips as she stood, reaching her hands out for Gwen’s own. 

It didn’t take much effort to lead the other woman back into the dressing room, a cheeky grin on her lips as she pressed Gwen back against the wall. “Morgana – “

“Shh…” Morgana hushed her, leaning down to brush light kisses over her lover’s throat, her fingers playing with the delicate beading of the dress’ bust. Moving her lips up to Gwen’s own, Morgana kissed her teasingly as she slipped her hands around the other woman’s waist, working at the lacing at her back.

“ _’Gana_.” Gwen hissed, though made no move to stop her. Morgana raised an eyebrow, tugging the dress down just past her lover’s breasts with one deft movement.

“They’ll hear you.” Was all she said in reply, looking over at the door to their dressing room briefly. She could see the moment Gwen figured out was going to happen – her cheeks blushing such a lovely colour. Morgana smiled approvingly, running her fingers ever so lightly down her lover’s chest. “Gorgeous.” 

Morgana spent the next few minutes teasing at those pretty breasts of Gwen’s – tempting her nipples into hard little nubs. It was with a smirk that she leaned down, taking one into her mouth with a pleased hum, laving it with her tongue before pulling away and blowing cold air over the patch of wet skin. And didn’t that make Gwen shiver. But still, this was hardly the main event.

Somehow Morgana made the act of falling to her knees graceful, smirking up at Gwen as she started lifting up the layers of the dress. “Remember to stay quiet.” She teased before ducking under the silk and tulle, letting it drop down again behind her. Morgana almost giggled at the situation – being in this tent of a dress – but she had a mission. 

It was with gentle but demanding hands that she tempted Gwen to spread her legs further apart, pressing a kiss to her thigh in thanks when she was obeyed. Her prize lay before her, covered in the green lace panties that Morgana had bought her lover just last Christmas. Gwen had said they were more of a present for Morgana than herself, and she hadn’t denied it. The other woman did look stunning in them, after all. One kiss was placed over the fabric, Morgana’s lips twitching as she heard Gwen’s sharp breath above her. 

A finger came next, just lightly touching between her lover’s thighs, drifting over her most sensitive areas. Morgana was merciful, however, and her lover was behaving remarkably well so far. She hooked two fingers into the side of the panties, pulling them down and to one side where she could hold them out of the way. Morgana had had enough of teasing, going for a long lick over her lover’s warm folds. Gwen practically whimpered above her and Morgana felt victorious.

It was easy to spread her lover’s lips with one hand, tongue flicking over her clit expertly. Gwen had never been able to resist a good eating out, and it only took a few fingers and more than a few tricks with her tongue for Morgana to tip her over the edge, her hand fisted in her mouth to stop her crying out. Morgana gave her a few more kittenish licks before fixing Gwen’s panties back in place and crawling out from under the dress with a smug grin.

“And to think you didn’t want me to come along.”

“It’s tradition for the groom not to see the dress before wedding.”

“I’m not a groom.”

“Partner, then. But I’m glad you came, love.”

“I’m not the only one who _came_.”

* * *

**#23**

**Title:** Burlesque Beauty

Morgana puffs an offending feather from her lips, gloss now tacky.

"Goddamn cheap-ass -'"

"You're having a good day," Gwen cut off Morgana’s rant in its prime.

"Shitty fan. Strike _‘Orleans Burlesque_ ’ off suppliers list.”

Gwen kissed her girlfriend's pout, nose wrinkling at the lip-gloss before plucking up the fan, not even looking as she threw it into the trashcan.

"Sexy when you’re sporty," Morgana praised, hooking Gwen in for a longer kiss, tongue pressing into that lush mouth, frowning when she pulled back and shoved a kleenex against her lips, where it stuck.

"You know I hate gloss. It's that on your lips, or me." 

Wiping the offending gunk from her mouth, Morgana leered at Gwen, fingers trailing up her thigh.

"Can think of another way to have you on my lips."

Gwen batted her hand away but not before Morgana ascertained Gwen was panty-less beneath her skirt, languid warmth blooming in her gut at the thought.

"You’ve a performance, you should reapply -

"You?" Morgana interrupted. "My best performances are after we fool around.” It wasn’t her fault Gwen was so hot in her work-wear. Hell, Morgana’s head’d been turned by pyjama-bedecked Gwen as freshmen in college.

Morgana stood, smirking as she advanced, kissing Gwen’s throat.

"It's the martini glass tonight, Morgs, and this client is dropping a hundred grand for this private show."

"Hmmmm," Morgana popped the skirt’s button, sucking Gwen's lower lip to the purr of the zipper unfastening. Despite her protestations, Gwen shimmed, helping the skirt drop. 

"So, you’re saying I should be incredible?"

Morgana hustled Gwen to the makeup table, watching Gwen’s round ass in the mirror, guiding her to sit on the desk, propping one stiletto-ed foot on the chair, splaying Gwen for her avid gaze.

"You're so fucking gorgeous," Morgana purred, dipping for a taste of Gwen’s mouth, stroking her tongue along Gwen’s.

"You like?" Gwen teased, reaching between Morgana’s legs, encouraging Morgana to ride her hand.

"Hmmhmm."

"Then you'll love this." Gwen snapped a fan open, holding it in front of her, unbuttoning her blouse and moving the fan to the side to reveal her bra, covering up again before Morgana could touch. Wagging a finger, she admonished her girlfriend. 

"No touching."

"Tease.”

"Learnt from the best.” Grabbing another fan, she covered her pussy, to Morgana' s disappointment, and unclasped her bra out of sight.

She twitched a fan, revealing a pert nipple, covering again, folding her leg in and moving both fans to cover her breasts, sweeping one to the side while the other masked her breasts, mimicking Morgana’s act.

"Come on," Morgana wheedled, intoxicated by the display, desperate to touch as Gwen teased Morgana's breast through her costume, nipple tight against the fabric as the fan traced down her belly to her pussy, Gwen’s other hand mirroring the action on her own body, ditching the fan to tease her clit before dipping into her cunt, fingers sliding free glossy and shining, head falling back with a moan. 

“Please,” Morgana whimpered, wanting her mouth around those fingers, hands restless by her side as she held back, clenching her thighs together to ease the ache there, sweat trickling down her spine.

"Seven years - still got you begging," Gwen purred, tugging Morgana between her thighs, hissing at the scrape of sequins on sensitive nipples.

“Always,” Morgana promised, cupping a breast in her palm, she brushed her lips back and forth over the tight nipple, savouring Gwen’s whine as she arched her back to press her breast further into Morgana’s mouth.

“What I wanna do,” Morgana groaned, sinking to her knees, one hand pinching a dark nipple, the other sliding two fingers into Gwen slick and fast, twisting her wrist as she pumped them, feasting on the sight. Her mouth wasn’t slow or gentle upon Gwen, lost in the warmth and silky wet, Gwen’s hands digging into Morgana’s dark hair as she rolled her hips, finding a rhythm as Morgana sucked and teased Gwen’s clit towards climax.

Working her tongue next to her fingers, Morgana felt the spasms as Gwen came and her hips bucked and the grip in Morgana’s hair tightened, Gwen keeping her girlfriend’s mouth just where she wanted it, urging Morgana to gently suckle her clit as she came.

When Morgana lifted her mouth, her lips were reddened and slick as she stared at Gwen from beneath heavy lids.

“Best gloss ever.”

The voice of Gwen’s assistant Mithian floated through the door.

“Morgs, wipe your girl off your face and get on stage.”

* * *

**#24**

Nimueh had been taking things from Ygraine since she was little. 

When they met in preschool, Nimueh had seen Ygraine's green apple slices and decided at once that she wanted them. Nimueh took them from her and Ygraine had cried. 

Nimueh decided she did not like when Ygraine cried and conjured a whole tree of green apples right in the middle of the classroom. 

She got put in time out but she also got to see Ygraine smile.   
~ 

When they got a little older Nimueh took secrets from Ygraine. Secrets about her parents and her other friends. She also took secrets about her crushes, but Nimueh didn’t quite like those. 

~   
When they got into high school Ygraine and Nimueh were always together and, even though most people looked at Nimueh like she was a freak because of the "M", for magic, branded on her hand, Ygraine was fiercely proud of their friendship. She would glare at people when they made comments and was soon known in school as the fierce and noble leader of the Magical-Normie Alliance. 

Nimueh took Ygraine's hand, then. They would walk hand-in-hand down the hallways because, according to Ygraine, "showing people that M's and N's (for normies) can be friends is important." 

It always left Nimueh a bit flustered and she soon started suspecting why. 

~   
It was in university, after watching Ygraine date multiple men that Nimueh finally took something else from Ygraine, a kiss. 

Ygraine had come over to study in Nimueh's apartment but she had started ranting about the mistreatment of Magic-kind and she was beautiful and Nimueh kissed her. 

Ygraine had kissed back and Nimueh felt her magic light up the room and glow from within her. They kissed and kissed and, when their lips were puffy and a bit swollen, Nimueh moved to kiss other parts of Ygraine. 

Her skin was soft and Nimueh ravished it. She looked at Ygraine for permission and removed her underwear. She kissed there too. She licked long, lavish licks and punctuated it with short bursts of sucking. Ygraine was warm and blushing and her whole body shook when she came for Nimueh. 

It was then that she realized that Ygraine had actually taken something from her, her heart. 

~   
Though Ygraine had married a young prince who believed in everything she was against, her and Nimueh's affair had never ended. They met in secret to relish in each other's bodies and feel each other's skin. Nimueh never waivered in her affection of Ygraine and it was for that reason she granted Ygraine's plea. 

Ygraine wanted a child. No matter the consequences. Nimueh knew magic could not create life and knew there would be dire consequences and she hoped that it would be her. But when Ygraine died during childbirth Nimueh snapped. 

She did everything that Normies expected Magic-kind to do and then some because Ygraine had taken Nimueh's heart with her.

* * *

**#25**

We laugh about it sometimes, the difference between what we present to the world, and what we have created in our home.

Most people see the serious banker, the passionate head of a nonprofit serving homeless girls in London, and the raffish Emergency Department nurse who crashes with his friends because he can’t grow up.

But we know that each of us is part of a marriage that is as happy as it is life-affirming.

We all wear a small gold triskelion on a chain. The jeweler gave me a funny look when I ordered three the same, but I am beyond worrying about things like that. 

Sometimes I touch mine during a stressful day, to ground myself and remind me that we are three, separate but joined, indivisible.

Our friends know, of course, and a few trusted family members. 

Mostly they are too polite to ask, but I know they are all wondering about the sex. 

Well, Arthur isn’t. Arthur really prefers not to think much at all about his sister sharing her bed with two men.

He’s made his peace with it, but it took a while, and I suspect Merlin was a big help in helping him work through it. 

But I’ve known Arthur as long as I’ve known Morgana, and I love him like a brother. I would do anything for him.

Well, anything except give up Morgana and Gwaine.

But yeah, the sex is amazing. I’ve always known I was bi, Gwaine freely admits he will screw anything that moves, and Morgana leans het.

We make it work.

We used to have sex as pairs occasionally, but none of us felt good about it, so now one of the house rules is that we all participate. Even if one of us just wants to watch the other two and stroke someone’s hair, maybe. We’re all there.

Gwaine and I are unified in worshiping Morgana’s body, though. We often say that she is so beautiful we can’t believe our luck.

Her breasts are perfectly shaped, and her nipples get gimlet hard when one of us sucks on them. She loves it when we go down on her, and loves it even more when we tease her with the vibrator until she is so wet and open that we can each slip two fingers into her tight folds and fuck her in unison.

But I think the best thing, for me, is when she mounts Gwaine, and I get behind them and pull her into my body, burying my face in her sweet-scented hair. My hands look enormous covering her breasts, and Gwaine holds her steady with his big hands on her hips as he does the ancient push-pull. I look over her shoulder and see his red prick moving in and out of her body, and I hold her as she shudders through multiple orgasms. When she’s finally done, she pushes at us, saying, “Enough, boys. You’re killing me!” 

I usually end up coming all over her lower back. 

It isn’t always easy, of course. It’s hard enough to live with one significant other, let alone two.

There was the time Morgana pitched a fit over the state of the bathroom, and went and stayed at Gwen and Lance’s for a couple of days.

Gwaine and I spent hours scrubbing every square inch of that bathroom, and when she came home the house smelled like Clorox and there were red roses on the bedside table.

She always says that when we build a house, she is going to have her own bathroom.

And every once in a while the closeness gets to be too much and one of us spends a night in the guest room. But if it happens too often, we have a family meeting.

Now there is a baby on the way. I suppose I’ll marry her to give the child legal protection, but we don’t know and don’t care about who the biological father is. 

Our child will have the love of one mother and two fathers.

Morgana says she’ll know as soon as she lays eyes on the baby, and she’s probably right. She’s a bit fey.

But I hope she doesn’t tell us immediately. I like having a world of possibilities. I like the idea of watching to see whether the little one’s hair will be straight and dark, or curly and reddish blond. 

It won’t matter either way. 

Mind, Body, Spirit. 

Earth, Air, Water.

Father, Mother, Child.

The three of us, and the world be damned.

* * *

**#26**

_There should be a word for this,_ Morgana thought, as she stroked her hand over Freya’s head, careful not to wake her. 

It wasn’t love- it was much too soon for that. But it _was_ the first spark of it, or something just as important and life-changing. She knew as much; could feel it in the way her mind settled when she was near Freya, in the way her fingertips tingled whenever they brushed Freya’s skin, and in so many other little ways that it pained her to know she’d never be able to notice them all. 

If only they’d had more time- but then, time had never really been on their side to begin with, had it? 

***

The thing was, Morgana hadn’t thought to form a plan beyond that of the rescue of the druid girl. She’d only wanted to snatch Freya away from the brute of a man who’d captured her and shoved her in a cage like an animal. 

She hadn’t meant for the string of her fate to become so entangled with Freya’s. She hadn’t even anticipated that they would become friends so quickly, let alone anything more than that. 

***

The night Morgana discovered Freya’s curse was behind the mysterious, brutal deaths that had been plaguing Camelot was the night she showed Freya her magic.

Her lips stumbled over the spell, and her hand shook when she raised it, but the candle’s flame blazed higher all the same, illuminating Freya’s frail form in an almost ethereal way. 

“We’re monsters of a kind, you and I,” Morgana whispered. 

Freya said nothing, only offered Morgana a small smile. It was the first real one Morgana had seen since she’d met her.

*** 

Their fifth night together, Morgana entered their hiding place to find Freya curled in on herself on the floor, her mouth clamped down on her wrist to muffle her sobs. 

“Freya-” Morgana reached for her, but Freya flinched away from her outstretched hand. 

“I need to leave,” she said, her voice thick with tears. “I can’t stay here. I can’t keep murdering innocent people . I can’t-”

“It’s not safe out there. Not yet. Just wait until tomorrow, and I’ll get some things for the journey and- and I’ll come with you!” 

Morgana didn’t know where the decision had come from, but she knew it was the right one as soon as she said it. 

“You wouldn’t be safe with me. You’ve got a good life here, Morgana, I couldn’t live with myself if I took you away from it," Freya protested. Her eyes were huge and sad, pleading for Morgana to understand. 

 

“I’ve got magic. How safe do you imagine I can be, living at the heart of a Camelot with Uther as king?” 

“Death before and behind you,” Freya replied, with a small, ugly laugh. “You can’t win, can you?” 

“It doesn’t have to be that way. Please, I don’t want to lose you before I’ve even had you. We can make it together, I know we can."

Morgana didn’t realize she was crying until Freya took her face in her hands to kiss the tears away. She lifted her head instinctively, pressed her lips to Freya’s in a kiss that started gentle but soon turned wild in a way that awoke a burning need in Morgana’s belly and left them both panting. 

Her hands moved to the hem of Freya’s dress and stopped there, hesitant. 

“Let me,” Freya breathed. She lifted the dress over her head and kissed Morgana again, guiding Morgana’s hands to the swell of her breasts and throwing her head back with a gasp as Morgana explored her body with frantic, desperate movements, fingers moving over Freya’s nipples, the smooth skin of her stomach, and finally down to the thatch between her legs. 

Morgana quieted Freya’s whimpers with a kiss when she slid first one, then eventually two fingers between Freya’s folds and into her already wet heat, fucking her with them and rocking against her until they both came and collapsed, spent, into each other's arms.

***

That night, Morgana woke to find herself cold and alone on the ground in Camelot’s catacombs. She rushed outside just in time to see Arthur deal Freya’s Bastet form a fatal blow. 

_It's not Arthur's fault,_ she told herself, for weeks afterward. 

Then, _it’s not my fault._

She only hoped that one day she’d be able to believe it.

* * *

**#27**

Arthur took the cloth sack off of Merlin’s head.

Merlin inhaled deeply and smiled as he looked up into Arthur’s face. It didn’t look like he was surprised in the least.

“Arthur Pendragon.”

Arthur didn’t say anything as he slowly kneeled down in front of Merlin.

“I suppose this is payback. I kidnap you, you kidnap me. I would have thought the fact that I returned you to the loving embrace of your corrupt father would have counted for something.”

“It does. I am grateful to you, Merlin.” Arthur said sincerely.

Merlin chuckled darkly. “I was dragged from my flat, a bag was put over my head, and I was shackled.” He said as he tried to once again wriggle out of the heavy manacles. “If this is how you show your gratitude, I would hate to see you really angry.”

Arthur only grinned. He gestured to Merlin’s hands. “You don’t know when to quit, do you? You’re never going to get out of those things. My father’s top scientists in his lab have been perfecting those shackles for years. You can’t get out of them and you can’t use your magic.”

Merlin shook his head slowly. The whole reason he had kidnapped Arthur was because he knew his father Uther had been experimenting on sorcerers and witches. Uther claimed to detest any and all magic, but like all evil hypocrites, was more than happy to use magic for his own purposes.

Merlin grunted as he struggled uselessly. “Are you doing your father’s dirty work now? Am I the latest experiment?”

“No.” Arthur leaned forward and unfolded Merlin’s legs to place him in a more comfortable position. “I meant what I said Merlin. I’m grateful to you. My entire life I’ve been pampered by everyone - maids, teachers, greedy would be stepmothers - and everyone bends over backwards to do what I say. It’s quite fun, but I don’t think known anyone to show me real genuine kindness - until you. My bloody kidnapper of all people.”

Merlin closed his eyes and groaned. “Oh, God is this some kind of Stockholm Syndrome thing?”

Arthur threw back his head and laughed. “No.” He got up slowly and knee walked toward Merlin. “Did you know that I was born of magic?”

Merlin gasped. 

“I take it that you didn’t?” Arthur planted his legs on either side of Merlin’s thighs.

Merlin gulped and recoiled back slightly. “What are you doing?”

“I don’t have magic, but I’ve always wanted to know what it feels like. What is it like to feel like to have that kind of power coursing through your veins? I’ve always felt some sort of connection to those with it. But with you, Merlin,” he gently stroked the side of Merlin’s face, “it’s different. There’s something about you, Merlin.”

Arthur can feel Merlin struggling, but can also feel his growing hardness underneath him. “And what do you want me to do?”

“Make me feel it.” Arthur slowly skimmed his hands underneath Merlin’s shirt. 

Merlin moaned as Arthur ground down against him. “You have to untie me first.”

Arthur pulled back and looked into Merlin’s eyes. 

It felt like a million things were said between them in that moment. Arthur slowly stood up, and took off his pants. Merlin felt like he was about to pass out when Arthur’s boner sprang forward immediately. It was long and thick and already leaking pre-come.

Arthur sank back onto Merlin’s lap and leaned forward and unlocked Merlin’s shackles.

Immediately, Merlin had him on his back. 

Arthur gasped as he looked into Merlin’s glowing eyes. It was completely intoxicating and wondrous.

Merlin stroked his hands down Arthur’s body. Suddenly, Arthur could feel several different invisible hands stroking, pinching, and massaging every inch of his body. He was held down by invisible bonds.

Merlin kissed a hot trail down his body. Arthur felt like he was close to coming, when he looked down, and after giving him a cocky grin, without even touching him, Arthur felt a hot, warm sensation licking him open and then entering him. He felt full with it and could feel like he could float away at any moment.

When Merlin leaned above him and kissed him, Arthur finally let go and could feel his orgasm come over him in waves. He was sure this wasn't exactly what it was like to have magic, but at that moment it felt damn near close enough.

* * *

**#28**

'Come, sit with me, sister,' says Morgause, patting her lap. Morgana feels like a bird under the eyes of a cat, but she follows the direction of that purring voice and those beckoning fingers and comes to sit on her sister's knee, folding her skirts demurely about her legs as she does so. 

There will be a lesson here, she knows it. There always is with Morgause. It's just that Morgana doesn't know, yet, what it is to be. 

Morgause strokes Morgana's knee, her thigh, pulling the fabric of her gown gently as she does so. 

'What -' Morgana starts, twisting to see over her shoulder, but Morgause shushes her. In the orange firelight, Morgause looks more catlike than ever - hair golden, skin tawny, eyes a dangerous amber. And she smiles, and Morgana shivers, but it isn't with fear. She settles back against Morgause's body as long, delicate fingers trace up between her legs. 

'Are you chaste?' Morgause asks her, finding the hems on Morgana's smallclothes and tracing them. 'Untouched, my sweet sister? Innocent?'

Morgana has to work moisture into her mouth to answer. 'Yes,' she says with a little tilt to her chin, half pride and half defiance. It is so hard to tell whether Morgause approves or disapproves, but Morgana has never ached to please someone more than she does her sister. 

Lips smile foxily against the thin skin of Morgana's throat. 'We shall have to do something about that,' Morgause murmurs. 'You must be in control of yourself above all things,' she says, and the pads of her fingers are warm when they touch the insides of Morgana's thighs. 'There must be no part of yourself you don't know.'

Morgana squirms. She can't help herself. There is an unfamiliar throbbing, a wet heat between her legs, and Morgause is trailing close up to it. Morgana tries to pull her knees together, feeling a little swash of shame because Morgause said _control_ and this does not feel like it, but there is a quiet chuckle behind her and then Morgause takes her by the wrist and leads her own hand up under her skirts. She presses Morgana's fingers gently to her own flesh.

Morgana gasps. Her legs fall open wantonly, unbidden, her head lolls back. Morgause guides her fingertips through soft hair and over damp skin.

'Feel,' Morgause tells her. 'This is what they want you never to know, that you can feel like this - that you can give yourself this.' There is a place that Morgause nudges the pad of one of Morgana's fingers to, a firm-tender nub that makes something melt and shiver inside her. She feels her nipples tightening too, under the stiff fabric of her bodice, and saliva rising in her mouth, and she want, badly, for Morgause to kiss her.

But Morgause has a lesson to deliver.

'You never need anyone but yourself,' she says, and presses until Morgana's fingers slide lower and deeper. Morgana is panting now, and she doesn't even wait for Morgause to show her - the blood pounds and pulses at her core and she enters herself eagerly, with a moan she cannot help.

Morgause's fingers go with her, for a moment, and then withdraw. 'That's it,' she coaxes, and her hands, wet and dry, instead find their way to Morgana's bodice and her heavy, aching breasts, to free them to the cool air.. 'You know what you want,' Morgause says, sword-calloused palms smoothing hot over Morgana's nipples. 

Morgana is sobbing now, three fingers inside herself, smearing wetness along her wrist, sticky slick, burning, a feeling sweeter than any she's felt before. And when she's shaking, when it feels like she can't take any more, Morgause grabs her by the other wrist and moulds her fingers to her breast. 'Please,' Morgana whimpers.

'You can give yourself what you need,' Morgause says implacably and warmly. 'You need no-one but yourself.'

Morgana writhes, whines, convulses, and when she pinches, when she pushes deep, the winding tension snaps and she cries her relief with her face turned against her sister's throat, sobbing and shaking.

'There,' soothes Morgause. 'Isn't knowledge better than innocence?'

* * *

**#29**

The house was still silent as Merlin threw himself in the passenger seat, clutching his prize. His heart was racing, he’d never done anything like this before, but when a gorgeous woman asks you to use your magic to help save a piece of local history from an evil tyrant, what’s a boy to do?

“You didn’t say it would be so heavy.” He said with a cheeky grin, cradling it in its blanket like a baby.

“I said it was made of stone Merlin, what were you expecting?” Morgana didn’t look at him as she pulled slowly out of the gravel drive, her perfect red nails tapping impatiently on the steering wheel. She didn’t switch the headlights on until they were a way down the road, and then speed back to her flat in the city.

...

The stone was placed on the coffee table in the sitting room, Morgana kept stroking it, humming to herself, and sometimes resting both hands on it and closing her eyes. Merlin hovered nearby, sipping a glass of wine.

“Isn’t she beautiful?” She whispered at last.

Merlin scrunched up his nose and mumbled something indistinct.

“What?” She snapped.

“I said… It’s kind of ugly.” Though he knew already that was the wrong thing to say. She jumped up and snatched the glass from his hand, setting it on the bookshelf before pinning him to the wall by the shoulders. She was stronger than she looked.

“In what way is it ugly?”

He gulped and peered at the Sheela na Gig. Well, her head was wonky for a start, her eyes small and angry, her mouth twisted. Also, there was the gaping… The hands, _pulling_ at her…

“Erm, it’s rather crudely carved.” Her eyes narrowed, “I mean, I don’t mean _crude_ ,” he quickly corrected himself, “I mean… Rough.”

“Well it’s a very early example,” she said sweetly. She pushed away from him and retrieved her own wine glass. “It’s a shame you find the female form so distasteful,” she sighed, swirling her wine and gazing at the figure again.

“Um?” Was all he managed to say.

“Because after all that excitement, I _had_ thought you might like to stay and help me…” She rolled her shoulders, “Unwind.”

Merlin swallowed thickly.

“But clearly you’re of no use to me if you can’t even look at a Sheela without squirming.”

“Well, I…” He paused and cocked his head to one side, coming to stand next to her. “You know, now that you mention it, there _is_ something rather fetching about her.”

Morgana smirked, “Touch her,” she said.

Merlin didn’t dither, he reached out and ran first one, then two, long fingers around the folds of her cavernous gash, before rubbing his thumb down the centre and letting it nestle within the groove of her.

Morgana banged her glass down and grabbed his hand. “That’s quite enough of that, we don’t need your oily fingers damaging a thousand-year-old work of art.”

She flicked the blanket back over her last acquisition and dragged the latest down the hall and into her bedroom.

* * *

**#30**

Arthur peeked out from behind his father's velvet cape when his father asked him if he was going to greet their new guest. He blushed when he saw the girl, a year or two older than his own five years, in a fine embroidered dress. His father pulled on Arthur's hand until he was standing by his side.

"Pleased to meet you, Prince Arthur," the girl said but instead of bending at the waist to bow, she pulled on the sides of her dress and bent her knees instead. Arthur frowned but gave a slight head bow in return.

\---  
The girl's name was Morgana and he was tasked with keeping her company when they weren't in lessons. It was the only time Arthur got to spend using his imagination for things other than war games. Arthur was more than a bit jealous that Morgana was allowed to carry around her dolls, but he was glad he got to play with her.

Let's play dress up!" Morgana shrieked excitedly one afternoon. Arthur agreed and then he was pushed behind Morgana's privacy screen and one of her dresses was tossed at him. "Put that on," she demanded.

Arthur did as he was told and when he came out Morgana gasped at him and led him to the mirror.

"You're prettier than I am, Arthur. That's hardly fair," Morgana complained as she stood behind Arthur and fussed with his hair.

Arthur smiled at his reflection, the deep red of the dress making his skin look even more tan than usual. He ran his hands down the front to smooth out the wrinkles and that was the moment his father walked in. The smile on his face quickly turned into a look of anger.

\---  
Arthur hadn't understood his father's rage about him wearing one of Morgana's dresses when Morgana was allowed to wear trousers but he quickly learned to keep his opinions to himself. He and Morgana continued to play dress up only when his father was away on business. If Arthur secretly snatched away the dresses that no longer fit Morgana before they were destroyed, no one had to know. If he sometimes slept in them because they made him feel pretty, the servants never said a word.

As Arthur and Morgana grew older and their studies changed Arthur found himself growing increasingly more jealous of Morgana and the fact that she wasn't forced to learn about swords, hunting, war, or diplomacy. Morgana sometimes joined him for his lessons but Arthur was never allowed to take any of Morgana's lessons, no matter how practical learning to sew might be.

It wasn't until Gaius was tasked with giving him the talk about nature and babies when he'd asked why Morgana had lumps on her chest and if he was going to grow them too that he understood that they weren't physically the same and Arthur started to wish he had been born a girl instead.

\---  
Arthur groaned when he saw Merlin's cheerful face first thing in the morning, he quickly glanced down to make sure his sleeping shirt was still covering the dress he was wearing and yelled at Merlin to get out. He sighed in relief that Merlin hadn't caught him, he hadn't been able to find much time to be himself since Merlin had become his manservant and had accidentally fallen asleep in the dress.

Arthur blushed as the smooth fabric of the dress shifted against his morning erection. He threw off the sheets and stripped off his shirt to go stand in front of the mirror. He frowned at the way the top of the dress stretched across his chest and wished he had Morgana's breasts to fill it out better. He liked the way the fabric stretched at his hips, though, except for the ugly bulge in front of his crotch. It gave the illusion of him having the curves he'd craved for so long.

Arthur smiled at the mirror and hiked up the dress so that his hard cock was exposed and wrapped his hand around it, stroking quickly. He found release in how obscene his hard cock looked against the delicate blue embroidered fabric and made sure to keep the mess of it from shooting on the dress. He quickly cleaned himself off and tucked his dick between his legs staring at how much better the dress looked without the bulge in front for a few minutes before resigning himself to starting the day and stripping it off.

* * *

**#31**

They say the war won’t come to Camelot, that the old King and Queen’s spirits are protecting the town. They do not fear. 

Gwen is six when her mother’s footsteps turn into faint echoes, following them into the dark forest when they run from the soldiers.

Their mother paid for her involvement with the rebels with her life; now they must pay for their lives with fear, always keep their head down. Gwen is twelve when Elyan slips out into the night. He leaves her a purple orchid, already fading. He leaves her the quiet and the dread and her father’s grief that are like a tether, and the passing days she doesn’t count for fear they will never end.

*

They say the war has managed to reach them after all because – because the old Queen is lost and has left the other realm in helpless grief, unable to protect the town. Gwen likes to pretend she can sometimes see her from the corner of her eye, behind a tree, pleads with her to go back and make it all stop (pleads with her to stay a while, just the shortest while, to keep her company). 

*

Food is scarce, and sometimes it seems like people are, too, but they say the Queen will return in time, will save them all, and peace will return. Mark my words. You’ll see. 

Gwen is very good with bandages, but sometimes (oftentimes), they are not enough.

(They say the war will last forever.)

*

They say the Queen hasn’t yet returned because she was snatched from her world and trapped in another. She must complete one – two – three tasks before she can escape. Patience, my friends. 

Gwen is nineteen when they meet. She looks otherworldly, beautiful, fey, and Gwen’s heart trips over itself for no good reason at all. It must be Her.

It isn’t.

‘ _You_ ’re Queen Guinevere. You have been lost to us for many years. The balance has been upset, and our world is fading.’

Gwen laughs out loud, then feels warm, giddy. There is somewhere she belongs, somewhere that is not the bleakness of this world. 

Then she feels nothing but shame, for abandoning her people.

*

They say one of the tasks must test the Queen’s courage, like in the old legends. 

Gwen has never held a sword. She has also never seen a wildeorn. She drops her weapon and screams – then runs towards the glowing ruby at the back of the cave, does not take her eyes off it; sprints back out as the cave collapses. Her heart stays trapped in her chest, but just barely. 

It’s still beating erratically when Morgana smiles at her.

*

All she has to do is cross the labyrinth and bring back the bread she takes with her, whole. Gwen is used to fasting, and for her people, she can last a while longer.

The man on the ground has the same otherworldly quality Morgana has, but he looks gaunt and frail. ‘Gwen…,’ he says, and just like that, she knows, _Merlin_.

She sits with him for hours, debates giving him some bread. In the end, she kisses his mouth with feeling. He feels like an old friend. ‘I will come back for you, I promise.’

Morgana is furious. ‘You’ve lost precious time. Why do you always go to him? _I_ ’m here to help you.’ Her smile is sudden and weary. ‘I know what it’s like, not to be loved for so long, you know.’ 

Her mouth is hot in the way Merlin’s wasn’t, and when she caresses a nipple through the fabric, Gwen learns what longing means. She learns what pleasure means with Morgana’s mouth on her cunt, Morgana’s fingers digging into her thighs. She leaves marks.

After, Morgana says, ‘Remember this,’ and holds her, tightly.

*

The third task, they say, must be the hardest.

‘We need a blood sacrifice for the spell to work. It has to be someone related to you.’

The knife slips from her hands the same way her sword did. It falls with a loud clang, but her father sleeps on peacefully. It falls with a loud clang, and she doesn’t hear the soldiers just outside the door.

She’s used to seeing blood. She almost expects her own to glow, but it’s just the same.

*

They say the queen refused to spill another’s blood and passed the final test. They say she is home at last.

They say she died alone on the floor of her house.

They say peace will come soon.

They say it’s all a lie.

They say…

They say.

* * *

**#32**

It’s a small and tired thing, waiting for someone to come around.

She leans her head against the bricks, shutting her eyes, her mouth puckering as she tries to will the vision back, wishing for a second of sleep so that it may return. The grimy pavement feels grainy and wet beneath her fingertips. 

She’d seen him. He was coming.

Until then, she had some time to waste. She manages to stumble and crawl into the alley between the apartment complexes whose shared pavement she’d been falling in and out of consciousness on. Hidden from the public, though not that any person here would care, she extracts a needle from within the folds of her tattered clothes. Bringing it up to the light, she curses and flings it away when she sees the blood swirling in the mix. She’d fucked it up a few nights ago and had been too high to realize it then. She digs around the pocket of her sweater and finds a little bag that was also empty. She screams and tosses it away too, the little bag fluttering ineffectively right to her feet. The brick hurts against her head and she wishes that pain was as pleasurable as the stab of a needle or the burn of a powder.

“Morgana,” he warned gently from between her legs, his breath over her flesh sending a feather of delight up her spine.

She bit her lip, her brow furrowing, as she held in the moan that skittered at the edge of her lips. She tried to massage his head with her hand, the other caught in trying to hold up all her skirts, but succeeded in making him hiss in pain as she inadvertently tugged and clenched in accordance with his tongue. A greeting and a gay laugh floated into the room through the space beneath the door. Servants and royals so close to where she was falling apart beneath the lips of a peasant turned manservant was positively exhilarating. 

“Morgana.”

Her eyes burn.

“Morgana.”

She startles awake as a hand gently shakes her arm. She’d fallen asleep again. He pulls her up and she closes her eyes. Now she could rest.

“Don’t fall asleep on me,” he whispered by her ear, his breath ghosting down her cheek.

She turned her face and simply breathed, inhaling and exhaling their air from parted lips. It was hot and they were tired. His hand curled a tendril of hair around its finger. She pressed a kiss to his jaw.

Their movements were unhurried, practiced things. It was easy to find x’s when the path has been mapped before. He let her touch him first, circling her wrist loosely as she stroked, twisting it as she moved upwards. She enjoyed the feeling; the silent power in causing the gentle sighs, the quiet gasps. His hand ran along her thigh and she grimaced at the slow penetration, the hesitant prod before the inevitable breach. The sensation was pleasurable, albeit the friction somewhat dry, and his body perspired from the effort of love on a humid evening. His body moved slickly atop hers and his hand skimmed her abdomen before reaching below, intensifying the pleasure and the friction heightened. The candles in the room burned brightly before settling, little mice scurried into corners in fright.

“Why are you doing this?” he asks, pulling her gaze from the passing landscapes and blurry buildings.

She can’t do anything but roll her head to face him, wishing she had an answer better than I missed you too much. He looks away but the hand that rests on her knee gives a comforting squeeze and she thinks perhaps he knows the better answer.

“I was waiting for you.”

She brushed the hair from his forehead away, smoothing his eyebrow and tucking his longer lengths behind his ear. His eyes opened slowly, squinting up at her before smiling placidly. 

“It will not be so terrible,” he had murmured, his fingers tracing little circles on her thigh. 

Destiny was a fickle thing. 

“How will we find each other again?” she had asked, wishing the vision in her mind would burn away into a pile of ash. A breeze on the wind ready to blow away.

He turned his head from her breast and lifted himself just enough to give a small kiss to her cheek.

“I will find you,” he’d assured.

“Me too,” he said.

Her smile is small and timid as she blinks the sleep from her eyes.

* * *

**#33**

Consciousness comes slowly to her. Pain, anger, and betrayal thuds roughly against her skull before fading gossamer thread like. She blinks and her memories _(are they hers?)_ filter past her before she can reach forward to grab onto them. 

“One day you’ll be able to catch them.” The voice startles her, a shadow shrouded in the dark.

There are many questions that fight against her tongue, but “Why?” wins.

“Some will say for the afterlife, others will say redemption. Some others will say vengeance, and some yet will say to find peace. In the end, it’s an answer you will have to find yourself.”

“And will I find it?”

“Maybe.” The _maybe not_ echoes in the silence.

\----

Catching dreams is easy. They’re fleeting, half built from past wants, half built from fresh desires. They are a meager sustenance with their fragile, cotton candy like hopes that almost always melt once taken.

Memories on the other hand. 

Good memories, they are like diamonds in the rough.

\-----

Her father swoops down to carry her on his shoulders. 

“My little princess,” he says grinning at her. She is five years old and her father is her knight in armour. Her eyes, _green_ , shine with joy as she giggles. The sound echoes across the courtyard. Her dress, red and gold glint in the sun.

_(...my father by blood alone)_

It is the first memory she steals. 

\----

“Happy birthday, little sister,” her sister says warmly, slugging an arm around her shoulders.

“What is it?” she says tugging at the small package, wrapped silver and blue. 

“You’ll see.”

The wrapping crinkles as she tears it apart.

“Oh.” The gold bracelet sparkles against the light.

“How did you know?!”

Her sister laughs, blond hair ruffling in the wind, her eyes amused, “Why wouldn’t I?”

_(I hope you will remember me fondly)_

Memories with love, whether loving someone or doing something one loves, those are the sweetest. She can feel those down to her toes, chasing all the shadows away.

\----

She’s not sure how much time has passed. Only sure that she still hasn’t found her answer yet. Sometimes it feels startlingly close, like tip of the tongue. 

Then she stumbles.

\----

Soft lips brush against one another, hip to hip, in the large canopy bed. The press of their bodies is slick, his thighs wrapped around his golden haired lover as they thrust against him. He can’t help but let out a low desperate moan at a particularly hard thrust. His hands reach up, fingers digging into the muscled back. He arches against the sheets, his dark hair damp with sweat, his eyes briefly flickering open, blue against gold--

_(time and again...lay your life down for him)_

And then he notices her. There is power to him that sings to her like kindred spirit. His eyes, a strange marriage of blue and gold, stare in shock, widen in recognition. The grief hits her like a punch to her gut. 

Staggering she pulls away, fleeing from his past. _(Or maybe hers?)_

The longest memories, the ones that should’ve faded with time are the ones that are the most bittersweet.

\----

It’s a late autumn afternoon and she’s wearing her favorite maroon sweater. Her boots crunch against the leaves, orange, russet and yellow. The wind is brisk but she still feels the uneven heat of the sun against her face. And there at their tree, she’s waiting. 

_(If anything happened to you, I could not bear it)_

“Hi. You came.”

_(It’s alright. I’m here.)_

“You waited,” she asks unsure, hands fidgeting, wanting to reach out and cup her face.

“You don’t remember do you?,” she asks exasperatedly, but her brown eyes are warm and looking at her fondly.

She doesn’t---

\---They’re picking wild berries out in the field, sharing sticky sweet kisses on a horse blanket. They’re healers battling the plague in Venice, finding comfort in each other as the death toll raises. They’re traveling the continent, the varying dialects dancing their tongues as their mouths map each other’s bodies against satin sheets. They’re nurses in the great war, cities are being burned around them and in dark corners their fingers rub and tease, rough and gentle until it’s only them in the deafening roar. They’re literature graduates, discussing Keats and Browning between low moans and Plath and Rilke between sleepy morning cuddles. They’re the handmaid and the princess. They’re the queen and the sorceress. They’re--

“I’ll always wait for you Morgana,” Gwen says holding out her hand, palm up.

_(It’s only ever been you.)_

And Morgana remembers.

* * *

**#34**

“Are we doing the right thing?”

Merlin asks for what must be the fifth time in the last month, and Arthur sighs in the bunk beneath him. From the opposite side of the tent, Gwen and Morgana’s breathing have already evened into sleep.

“Stop torturing yourself, Merlin. For the last time, your father’s high up in the Ministry. All our parents are. We didn’t have any choice.”

Arthur almost falls asleep, with the sound of the wind in the trees outside, before Merlin’s anxious, lost voice comes again.

“It’s just… we heard about the Weasley family all having to disappear because their son’s aiding Undesirable Number One. … Why aren’t we doing what they’re doing?”

Arthur doesn’t even bother opening his eyes. They’ve been through this a hundred times before.

“Because wars aren’t won by men on the front lines alone. We have our own part to play, to make sure this one is won for the right side.”

~

The next morning, once the tent’s tucked away in Arthur’s enchanted rucksack, Morgana rolls the sleeve of her jumper high enough to press a finger to her Dark Mark. 

“They’ve apparated again, but not far. The Department of Magical Tracking and Tracing’s working as hard as they can, but they can only give us an approximate location today.”

“Fine. Better, actually,” Arthur declares. “Maybe today we won’t have to lie when we report we haven’t found them.”

~

By virtue of their families’ Pureblood statuses and their spotless track record, Arthur, Merlin, Morgana, and Gwen were the team of Snatchers who’d been given Potter as their prime target. Now they knew everything the Dark Lord did regarding Potter’s whereabouts, and risked their lives to keep the Dark Lord thinking he was getting closer to him, while in reality Potter remained safely beyond his grasp.

After weeks of turning other errant Snatchers off the trail and feeding the Ministry just enough hints to avoid suspicion, they receive an unexpected task from Severus Snape.

“You’re sure this is where he meant?” Gwen asks, holding the Sword of Gryffindor and gazing at the legendary blade in wonder as she stands on the bank of a frozen pond.

Merlin nods. “Yes. Snape said he’ll lead Potter here, when the time is right.”

~

When Potter accidentally activates the trace on Voldemort’s name, there’s nothing the four of them can do. Other snatchers, greedy for the bounty, swarm to the location much faster than the four could try fending them off. 

~

When the Battle of Hogwarts breaks out, the four aren’t among the army on the castle grounds. They can’t face former classmates who tonight defend the castle and who wouldn’t understand the role the four had played, nor could they turn on their friends in the Dark Lord’s ranks. When the curses break out like terrible fireworks, the flashes find them in a clearing deep inside the Forbidden Forrest, warded by Merlin for invisibility.

Regardless of the battle’s result, they know that come dawn, the world will never be the same. So they spend those deciding hours together, as they had previously had the opportunity to only rarely in their lives.

Gwen sprawls on her back, flushed with Arthur’s head buried between her legs and Morgana straddling her face. 

Merlin hangs back, touching himself or trailing his fingers along Gwen’s body, until Morgana moves over to him and they twine close, Merlin’s fingers curling into where she’s already slick and swollen.

When Merlin finally dips Morgana back enough to slide inside her, her desperate sounds make Arthur and Gwen follow suit. She crawls into his lap, her legs curled around his back and his arms holding her securely as he fucks up into her, until he feels the incredible hot rush of her climax seizing around him. 

Once Gwen pulls off, gasping and sensitive and leaving Arthur painfully in need, Arthur dives towards the other two. Morgana shakes, shuddering almost violently when Arthur starts licking around where Merlin’s cock is sliding in and out of her. The touch of Arthur’s tongue to her clit combines with Merlin’s thrust, and she comes with her back arching off the ground. Arthur hungrily laps away every drop of her release. Merlin quickly finishes off a near-desperate Arthur with a deep claiming of his lips and quick pumps of his cock. By the time Arthur’s spent, Morgana and Gwen have recovered enough to bring Merlin to the edge with their mouths working over him together.

In a sated, sweaty heap afterwards, they take hands as they look over to the shattered sky above the castle.

“Do you think we were on the right side of history?” Merlin asks.

Gwen kisses his cheek. 

“I know it.”

* * *

**#35**

Ygraine de Bois is many things. She is the embodiment of a true lady, with subtle wit and a very peculiar way in which she uses her soft voice so that even lords and battle-baptised knights fall silent and listen to what she has to say. She is the best friend and one true love of Nimueh, and Nimueh must admit she is happy the feelings are mutual.

Ygraine is graceful like a nymph, so when she barges into Nimueh's room (yet bearing all her grace) the latter is, to say the least, surprised.

Ygraine locks the door and presses an ear against the thick hard wood; for a good while there's only the silence, every now and then interrupted by her inhaling deeply. Nimueh is about to say something but Ygraine, without moving from the door, raises her finger and so Nimueh stills, patiently, awaiting for whatever it is that's been troubling Ygraine to pass. Her fragrance - tender decorative flowers the names of which Nimueh will never remember because they're neither herbs nor magic - reaches Nimueh's nose and she's can't help herself, and inhales. Her skin tingles; in her stirs the desire to take in more, inhale directly from Ygraine's skin, taste it, kiss it, worship it-

She takes a deep, perhaps a bit sharp, breath, and tries to think of other things. Inappropriate thoughts reach her a tad bit too easily as of late, she reckons.

Ygraine lifts her ear from the door and rushes across the room to where Nimueh stands, still silent and smiling. The latter's about to greet when Ygraine takes a hold of her head and pulls her into a kiss. 

Shock runs through Nimueh's whole body, so hard she shudders and has to grab Ygraine's slender forearms lest she tumbles and falls. Ygraine's lips are hot; her tongue is insistent, her body as if feverish. As Nimueh returns the kiss she racks her mind as to what may be the cause of all this - Ygraine has had not one occasion to prove herself playful, yet there's never been this... need, this _urgency_ , as if the world was ending, as if this was their last meeting.

Nimueh abandons reasoning and coherent thought when Ygraine pushes her onto the bed and straddles her, fingers already on the task of taking off whoseever dress comes first. 

For hours, they don't leave the bed, and Nimueh, who has always cared little for her own pleasure in this, now feels like glass shattered into dust, like her body and soul have exploded into an eternity not quite unlike the night sky, vast and cosmic. As their bodies intertwine and their lips meet in more and more insatiable kisses she feels like crying. She buries her fingers deep into Ygraine, covers her breasts and neck in tender kisses, watches as Ygraine writhes and moans in pleasure, and arches her back when she reaches her peak, and feels like crying, and doesn't know why. _Perhaps this is love,_ she thinks while Ygraine makes herself comfortable in her embrace, _happiness so big it brings you to tears_. She kisses Ygraine's slightly damp hair, and again, feels overwhelmed.

"May I ask what caused this, My Lady?" Nimueh murmurs while she strokes the tender skin of Ygraine's shoulder.

Ygraine's sharp inhale is audible; she buries her face into Nimueh's chest and her grip on Nimueh tightens. It's a peculiar thing, to see Ygraine de Bois shy - all her deeds she does with confidence. Nimueh can't help herself and strokes her hair. "Forgive me, I shouldn't have asked-"

"I'm to be married to Uther Pendragon," Ygraine says quickly.

All the warmth disappears from Nimueh's body; it feels as if her very blood has turned to ice. A tear burns her eye and runs down her cheek.

* * *

**#36**

Gwen wiped her eyes.

“Picture this, Lance, they were both buck naked banging on the bathroom floor,” she said. “I never really wanted to see Merlin’s bare arse while he fucked my husband.”

Lance felt sympathetic, but he couldn’t say he didn’t want to see it. “I know you didn’t want to walk in on that, but it’s been over with Arthur for six months. You’ve said so yourself.”

“I know we’re just staying in the house together as friends for Mordred’s sake, but still. He was fucking one of my best friends in my bathroom!”

“And you’ve been sleeping with one of his best friends for four months.”

Gwen sighed. “Yeah, I know. But not in the house!”

Lance grinned. “At least he’s happy, come on. You guys shouldn’t have gotten married so young. He doesn’t care that we’re together, either. He told me himself.”

Gwen put her glass down and leaned over Lance. “My eyes were burned, ok? Merlin’s arse is really pasty.”

“Okay…”

“Put another image there?”

Lance smiled. “As my lady commands,” he said, and leaned up to kiss her. 

Gwen stood and extended a hand, and when Lance took it she led him to the bedroom of his small flat. She stripped, and settled back on his bed with her knees bent and her thighs parted.

Lance knelt between her thighs. “What do you desire, my love?”

“Lick me,” she commanded, the echo of the Queen she had been evident in her tone. 

Lance leaned over her cunt, taking in the neat trim and inhaling the scent. Holding her hips down, he parted her folds and dove in, swirling his tongue over her most sensitive place. 

“Yes, that’s it,” Gwen said. “Oh, yes, baby.” She ran her fingers through his hair, encouraging him further.

Soon she was clenching his head there, all but riding his talented tongue and fingers. “I’m coming, oh god, don’t stop!” She rode out her orgasm, and he was relentless. 

“Fuck me. Fuck me now,” she moaned.

“As you wish,” Lance said. He flipped her over. She braced herself on his headboard as he sunk deep into her from behind. 

Lance fucked her into the mattress, Gwen writhing on his cock. She screamed her second release into the pillow. 

“Fuck my arse,” she begged. 

Lance reached for the lube and slid a finger into her arse. He could feel his cock through the walls and she moaned her approval. He added a second finger and scissored, sliding a third finger in to the sound of Gwen’s moans. He fed his cock into her arse inch by inch, slowly filling her up. 

“God, you feel amazing,” Lance said, retreating and sliding back in. 

“I feel so full,” Gwen said, and moaned again as Lance bottomed out. 

“Can you imagine Arthur feeling this full?”

Gwen moaned, imagining for just a moment Arthur getting fucked into the floor of her bathroom, this time by Lance.

Lance clenched her hips tight and she felt his cock spasm in her, triggering her third orgasm. He slid his softening cock out of her arse, gathered her to his chest, and kissed the top of her head. “I love you, my Queen,” he said.

“You’ll always be my knight in shining armor, baby,” she replied.

* * *

**#37**

The caravan creaks as it rolls over a bump in the road. The silken curtains flutter in the breeze, but the air is thick inside. 

A bead of sweat rolls down Elena's forehead and she adjusts her veil.

"Don't bother fidgeting," Mithian drawls, voice slow and sweet from the heat. Mithian is veiled as well, but hers is a delicate pink to Elena's blue. "It just wastes energy." 

"You get used to it eventually," says Vivian. She's cooling herself with an ornate green fan that matches her clothing. The birds painted on the side flutter as she waves it. 

Elena puffs out a breath. "At least it's silk." She fluffs her silken bodice. "I can't even begin to imagine wool in this heat."

Mithian shifts, turning over on the soft pillows. "We've learned. Not only is silk lovely on the skin, but it cools fairly easily."

Elena swallows. "What if- what if he requests one of our services? It's so hot- I don't know what I'd do. My face paint is but melting under my veil."

"He won't do anything in this heat," Vivian says. She adjust herself so her blonde head is resting on Elena's thigh. "He can't bear to move as well. If he calls for your service simply serve him shaved ice and fan him. He'll probably fall asleep soon after."

"But if not," Vivian's brightly painted mouth shows through her veil, "they you should dip his member in shaved ice and then lick it off. Maybe next time he'll think twice about requesting your service in such weather."

A snort comes from the corner of the caravan, and the girls turn to look at the fourth member of their harem, who is dressed in yellow silk.

"You know," Mithian says pointedly. "Some of us actually wish to provide pleasure to the king. Unlike others."

The steady clop of horses' hooves continues in the background, but now it's drowned out by a thundering.

Vivian sits up. "What's that?"

She screams as a curtain wall is slashed to shreds, reveal an armor-clad man.

"Greetings fair damsels!" The warrior grins. The caravan jolts to a halt. "I'm here to rescue you from your terrible fate!"

The girls stare at him.

Finally, Mithian speaks. "Please go away. We like our fate." 

"I make good money for this!" Vivian chimes in.

Elena only manages to nod.

The knight looks confused. "But- I'm supposed to rescue you? It's a quest! I need to rescue a fair maiden on my quest."

Suddenly, he is attacked by yellow silk.

"Take me with you!" Merlin gasps (for the one sitting in the corner had in fact been him). "My skin is fair and I am but a maiden!"

The knight licks his lips, hesitates, then slings Merlin over his horse. "I shall rescue you fair maiden!" And he rides away.

Elena looks at Mithian. She's sitting there with her mouth wide open. Elena can't see Vivian.

"What the fuck?" Vivian says. 

\---

Somewhere hidden in the trees, Merlin is nestled in front of the knight on his horse, doing his best to rub his ass back onto the knight's cock.

"I'm Merlin," he purrs, and grins as the knight groans.

"And I'm Sir Arthur. You said you were a maiden?" Arthur sounds like he's gritting his teeth. Merlin grabs the reins and pulls the horse to a stop.

Jumping down, he says, grinning, "Oh no. I just told you that to get out of that caravan." He pulls Arthur down after him with a yank and then gropes him through his leathers. 

"Don't you want a reward for your completed quest?"

Arthur groans, hips hitching his cock into Merlin's hands and Merlin smirks.

"Don't come too soon. You still have ravishing to do."

* * *

**#38**

“I’m going to visit a tree,” Isolde said to her men, all of whom looked at least half-dead from the previous night’s ale. “Then I’m going to bathe, and I expect camp to be broken by the time I return.”

They responded in grunts and groans, but half of them were already on their feet by the time she got her boots on.

The last few days had been uneventful. They were in a quiet stretch of forest in Nemeth, and the worst they’d gotten was a rowdy wild boar, which had made for several very satisfying meals. Perhaps Isolde had gotten complacent, or perhaps she was just as groggy as her men—whatever the case, she had just finished braiding her wet hair and was on her way back to camp when a strong arm wrapped around her front and the familiar coolness of a blade pressed against her throat.

“I’m unarmed,” she said, which wasn’t true.

“I know.” The person’s voice was low and wet against Isolde’s ear. “This is your knife.”

Isolde shifted her legs together and found that, yes, the knife was missing from her boot.

“Sneaky,” she said, straining her neck away from the blade. “What do you want?”

“I’ve been watching you. You’re Isolde, renowned smuggler.”

Isolde chuckled. “I didn’t know I was famous. And you are?”

“Name’s Tristan. I’ll just ….”

The arm around Isolde’s chest slackened, and she felt fingers sliding hot down the front of her trousers. He made quick work of the strings that secured her purse between her legs, bulging like a half-hard cock.

“With tits like those, no one would ever believe you’re a man,” Tristan said, voice rough like this was foreplay.

And maybe it was, a little bit, because Isolde was feeling distinctly damp and tingly, but _no one_ was allowed to touch her gold. She reached back between his legs to squeeze his balls and found … nothing. The knife slackened in his hand, and she turned in his grip.

“Are you a eunuch?” she blurted out. Tristan looked like she’d gelded him herself, his handsome face pinched. “It’s all right if you are.”

Isolde steadied Tristan’s hand, leaving the knife in his grasp but easing his arm down to his side. She peeled away from him slowly, lifted her shirt and showed him the scar that marked her destroyed womb.

“Poison arrow,” she said simply.

Tristan’s fingers brushed over the mottled skin, tracing the dark poison-dyed veins up, her shirt lifting higher, exposing her until the marks stopped, just a beat away from her heart. His touch felt like fire cauterising her wounds, painful and necessary. His knuckles brushed the underside of her breast, and Isolde’s gasp was loud against the snow-muted forest.

“How did you survive?” Tristan said, voice quiet. He pulled his hand away, but Isolde caught it and placed his palm to her flesh, eased his thumb over her nipple and moaned into it.

“Magic,” she said. “Druids.”

Isolde heard the gentle thud of the knife hitting the ground, and she pushed Tristan back against a tree, her mouth on his before he could say anything else about her injury. He cupped both of her breasts, slotted a leg between her thighs and let her rub against him like a wildcat in need of a good fucking.

She moaned loudly into his mouth, a warning for anyone who might happen across them. Just as no one was allowed to touch her gold, no one was allowed to interfere with her pursuit of climax. Tristan moved his hands from her breasts to her arse, slipping them down the back of her trousers and pressing one finger against her hole. It was enough to make Isolde shudder apart.

Soaked through and satisfied, Isolde said, “How do you—I mean, can you—”

“I’m not a eunuch,” Tristan said. He took Isolde’s hand, guiding it slowly down the front of his trousers.

“Oh,” Isolde said, feeling the slick skin between Tristan’s legs, brushing her fingers over luscious folds and finding his opening.

“I’m not a woman,” Tristan said as Isolde’s fingers slipped into his wetness.

“No need to state the obvious,” Isolde said, getting Tristan’s whole cunt cradled in her hand. “Besides, I’m not attracted to women.” She crooked her fingers inside him hard.

Tristan’s kiss was hot and needy, and Isolde finger-fucked him until he came, his laughter impossible to resist, full of joy and maybe a bit of gratitude.

* * *

**#39**

(13)

Merlin was beautiful in a fey way, his kisses soft, his touch gentle but wondering. They were friends first, lovers second, so when Merlin’s head turned after Freya walking past, Gwen smiled, letting go.

***

(16)

Lance was love, undoing Gwen. They spent two summers of whispered love declarations and first times together. The memory was aching (Lance left for a teaching programme overseas) and bitter: after Gwen said she’d wait for him, Lance, thinking himself noble, broke up with her to save her from heartbreak.

Merlin told her that love didn’t mean patronising someone. It still hurt.

***

(18)

Arthur was all hard angles protecting a lovely softness. He was clever, brave. When she looked at him, Gwen knew he was the sun’s single most beloved thing.

But he called her Guinevere, and the way he froze upon first meeting Merlin reassured Gwen: this would never happen. It was easy not to fall for Arthur. When Arthur, however, asked her out, she agreed. He took her to his father, and Gwen understood.

Uther, heterosexist tyrant, would disown his son if he caught his gaze lingering on Merlin; Gwen was safer. Arthur confessed, later, wretched, he hadn’t meant to do this, hadn’t meant to keep secrets. Gwen only said, “It’s okay,” and left it at that.

She wasn’t in love. Certainly not in any position to judge.

Not when her own heart was dark with secrets.

***

(19)

Morgana came to live with the Pendragons.

She was pale, dark, beautiful in a sharp way. She wasn’t just rebellious from her army boots and red-black tartan skirts but her very core; she moved in with Merlin after Uther tossed her out (“... told him to stick his chauvinistic bullshit up his own arse...”). By extension, Gwen, too.

The first time she saw Morgana, Gwen thought she understood how Arthur’d felt, meeting Merlin: electrified, breathless.

Threatened, in all the best ways.

She looked away, even when Morgana looked back. 

*

Months passed. Morgana kept looking, Gwen kept looking away. 

Nothing happened. 

(Nothing _could_ happen.)

And if Gwen’s heart trembled, between night and dawn, her fingers stealing down between her legs, black hair and sly smile in mind—no one had to know.

*

(Gwen remembered her brother’s death, clearly. 

Remembered the nurses saying, “hate crime,” her father saying, “humanity.” Most of all she remembered how her brother had loved another boy like their father had loved their mother.

When she’d glanced after a girl herself, at fourteen, panic had stilled her heart. When the girls had changed after PE, she’d looked away; looked at boys instead.

She’d never once cried for Elyan.)

*

Sometimes (tonight) the memories overwhelmed her.

The party was deafening; the silence inside her was louder. She was sitting, blank, alone in a corner. She never noticed who talked to her, or held her, until—

slim, wiry-strong arms went around her, and with it a scent that shot into Gwen’s stomach like an arrow. Gwen thought she’d vomit from panic when she clung to Morgana, not realising they were walking up the stairs until she felt something soft at her back. She stared up at her own Deftones poster. 

The bed dipped. Morgana’s face appeared above hers. Blurry, white, black, and red. The red moved when Morgana spoke. “You okay?”

An exhalation against Gwen’s chin. Warm, good.

It was hard to look away, suddenly.

“I’m n-not gay,” Gwen stuttered, didn’t know why. She had to say it.

Morgana was too close.

Gwen stared at Morgana until the burn fled her chest, appearing in her eyes instead. The noose was there, drawing tighter. Before it snapped, Gwen mindlessly gripped Morgana’s wrist.

Morgana wasn’t close enough. 

Gwen broke. There were words, hoarse, pleading. Hers. “Please, _please_ —”

Morgana hushed her with her mouth, her hands, her fingers. Trying not to feel was trying to breathe underwater: Morgana’s hands held her thighs apart as they quaked, her tongue licked shockdelight around Gwen’s clit, her finger slipped inside, and it was so _exactly_ what Gwen wanted that it ripped a crack into the silence.

When Morgana’s teeth closed in the soft flesh of Gwen’s inner thigh, Gwen felt the mad need to be marked all over. Perhaps then she could stay here, belonging to Morgana, where there was no time, no space, only feeling.

After, Morgana held her as she cried all the tears she’d never allowed herself. At last, tearless, nose against Morgana’s neck, she heard Morgana murmur, “You’ll be all right.”

In that moment, Gwen believed her.

* * *

**#40**

Rain pattered on the roof, painted wavy lines through the dust on the grimy window. In the dim grey of twilight, Mithian could only see the curve of Gwen's lips, her profile, as she lifted damp curls from the nape of her neck, sighing at the breeze.

She wetted a cloth in the basin, dragging it over her skin, across her breasts and between her legs. A man would have called it a whore's bath, but Mithian didn't care, just wanted to pull her back into bed, make her wet and messy again.

"Do you have to go?" She curled a hand around Gwen's thigh, licked the inside of her thigh, the smell of their sex filling her head, until Gwen shivered and pulled away.

"You know I do, chérie." Gwen leaned in and kissed her, gentle. A goodbye kiss, so different from the frantic intensity of before. She was distracted. "I'm seeing Arthur later."

Mithian turned away, ignoring Gwen's pout, and shook a Gauloise from the pack, scratching a match against the wine crate that served as bedside table.

"Thought you were done with that prick," Mithian muttered, but her heart picked up speed. Gwen's hand curved around hers, cool, and she slid onto the bed, lighting her own cigarette from Mithian's. Gwen only smoked Gitanes. She smiled like a schoolgirl sharing a secret.

"You should see the pile of bills he has in that penthouse. All the jewels too."

Mithian's throat closed. Money, that's what it always came down to.

Walking up into Montmartre was an ironic reminder that she was no better herself. The haze was thick on the hill, the streets dark and slick. She might as well have been descending into the gutter, that was how dirty she felt coming here.

Mithian rang the bell and waited, checking up and down the deserted street. You could never be too careful. It was late, later than she'd meant to be. She would pay for that. But the information she'd gleaned tonight would make up for it, she hoped.

From the outside, it looked like just another student flat, but inside every stick of furniture cost as much as Mithian could eat on for a year.

The door clicked open and Mithian entered. Only when the door closed again did Morgana emerge from the shadows into the flicker of gas lighting. Mithian wanted to roll her eyes - really, it was so overdramatic - but then Morgana had her pressed up against the wall, her chin in a harsh grip as Morgana kissed her, probing her mouth as if she could taste for lies.

As always Mithian resisted at first, sparring with her tongue, but then Morgana was rucking up her skirt and tracing the seam of her panties. She wasn't wearing nylons, they'd only be run to shreds by Morgana's fingernails.

"Hello, darling," Morgana cooed. "You're still so wet. Playing with our little friend?"

She squirmed, ashamed as Morgana's fingers slicked into her cunt. She was still swollen and now she would be sore. Morgana wasn't shy about shoving three fingers in, and it was too much, too hard, yet not enough all at once.

"She visited me earlier, but-- oh! Morgana!"

Mithian jumped when Morgana ripped open her blouse, scattering buttons, but before she could protest this mistreatment of her clothing, Morgana was pulling down the cups of her brassiere and ducking her head to suck and bite Mithian's nipples. She moaned, hands coming up to clutch at Morgana's shoulders. Her legs were trembling and she slumped back against the wall.

She loved this, how rough Morgana was with her, as much as Gwen's sweet embraces. She was an addict, unable to stop herself from oscillating between them. One she couldn't have, the other she shouldn't. Even if Gwen would give up her benefactor in the Milieu, Morgana would never let her go. Not without a fight.

"Tell me what she told you. Is it going to be tonight?"

"No, oh-- not tonight. In a week's time. Gwen--" she sucked in a breath as Morgana curled her fingers, "She'll be the look-out."

Morgana bit down, her fingers rubbing staccato rhythms against Mithian's clit, and she came, shuddering and trying to push Morgana's hand away as she became too sensitive. 

"Bien fait," Morgana said, kissing her cheek. "Good job."

* * *

**#41**

“Oh, God.” Hunith lets her head bang against the cupboard behind her. “Oh my _god_. I’m going to hell.”

Will smiles, bites at the inside of her thigh where the skin’s smooth and warm, drags his cheek over it just to see the redness his stubble leaves over the creamy whiteness. He grabs her arse and tugs her closer to the edge of the counter, then chokes on a breath when she just spreads her legs—easy. 

Under her flimsy dress—something that should never look this hot on anyone’s mother _ever_ —the light’s soft and yellow, the smell of her strong and mouth-watering. 

Will would like to be a fucking gentleman about this—take his time, build up to it—but her fingers push at the back of his head, her hips tilt up, fucking offering her pussy to his mouth with a muttered “come on,” so he just—dives in.

He mouths at her underwear until he can suck her wetness through the fabric. 

Her panties are dark and drenched by the time he shoves them down her legs, still dangling off her left ankle when she drags him back in by his hair, shoves him right where she wants him. 

That’s—That’s Hunith. That’s Merlin’s _mother_. Who let him and Merlin snatch cookies when they were cooling on the counter, right where he has her now spread and wet, pretending she didn’t see them. Who he wanked to when he was a teenager, because she was pretty and young and not like the other mums. Mums who didn’t have a kid at sixteen and thought they were better because of it. Hunith never gave a shit and that was like magic to his overeager dick. Still is apparently. 

It makes him hot all over, cock hard, painful, and straining in his jeans. 

Because he’s eating his best mate’s mom’s pussy, and she’s wet for it—for _him_ , the kid that grew up right alongside her son. 

He pushes his tongue as far as he can inside her—gets all the mess on his nose and chin and, fuck, his cheeks too, fucking _everywhere_. And she pushes back, fucks herself on his mouth, like—like she needs more too, just filthy with it.

And she—Will doesn’t even know—she keeps her hands on the back of his head and grinds on his face, so that all he can do is lick—lick and suck. He’s got his lips tight on her clit and two fingers inside her and she’s moaning while fucking herself on his hand, heels digging in his shoulders.

Wild thoughts flit in his mind, insane thoughts like: _Merlin, mate, your mum’s a bossy lay_ and _Merlin, mate, she’ll just slide in so easy on my cock_ , and _Merlin,_ mate _, I’m gonna make your mum scream my name._

_Your mum._

He groans into her with a shudder that wracks him from head to toes, and she gasps above him, fingers twisting in his hair, foot slipping off with a jolt.

She pulls harshly at his hair, up so she can look at him, with her flushed face and bitten-red lips. Her breasts are out of her dress, all squished together by the tight fabric of the collar she’s pulled down around them, nipples dark and hard. 

It’s the hottest fucking thing Will’s ever seen and that’s counting the moment a few seconds ago where he had a facefull of the most delicious pussy he’s ever tasted—better than all the uni girls Will has spent the last few years fucking—all pink and throbbing. 

 

His lips feel raw. All he can taste is her. He pumps his fingers inside her cunt, thumb on her clit.

“You’re—” she starts, pinches her lips together, and Will wants—he wants to kiss her and bury his face in her glorious breasts, and—

He doesn’t know why he says it, only that there’s still heat along his spine, and something in her eyes, in the way she looks hungry.

“Will,” he says, like she doesn’t know. “Your _son’s_ best friend.”

She whines high in her throat, then throws her head back. Her eyes flutter, her back arches and fuck—she’s coming.

She laughs and moans, hips rolling still, and Will fucking needs to come too, but he can’t take his fingers out of her as she trembles around them.

Hunith peers at him, throat white and long. She smiles and pushes his head with a hand, back between her thighs.

“Fuck yeah,” he says, then makes her shout by giving her oversensitive clit a good suck.

* * *


	7. Group C (clean)

**#42**

Morgana wasted no time when she finally secured an audience with the High Queen. 

“I have a favour to request of your Majesty,” she said as she bowed. 

“No need to be so formal, Morgana,” the queen said, peering at the chessboard she shared with her shieldmaiden. “Make your request.” 

“My girl, Guinevere, is approaching her day of womanhood. I would like to gift her a breed-mate.”

“By all means; you do not need my permission for such a gift.”

“I would like to gift her a breed-mate from the royal stock,” Morgana clarified. Morgause looked up from her game, brow arched. 

“Doesn’t your girl already have a stud to play with?” 

“Do you mean Merlin?” Morgana said. “He was a practice male — she collected him when Annis would have put him out for ill-temperament because my Gwen is soft-hearted. He’s no more than a pet, and unsuitable for a maid in my house. Please, sister. Will you allow it, for me?” 

“Fine.” Morgause waved a hand, uninterested. “We will go in a week’s time.”

~*~

“I cannot accept such a gift,” Gwen said, as Morgana had known she would.

“Nonsense,” Morgana said, stringing pearls in Gwen’s dark hair. She already wore the silk gown Morgana had chosen for her, and patiently accepted her lady’s attentions seated before her dressing table. Merlin lounged between her ankles, letting his mistress comb her fingers through his thick hair. 

The last time Morgana had seen him he’d been snarling curses and thrashing in his bonds, and the change in his demeanour was startling. Gwen’s gentleness could work miracles, Morgana was convinced. 

“This is an important day, kitten. Allow me to give you something fine,” Morgana pleaded, brushing her lips against Gwen’s ear. As always, Gwen flushed and relented.

~*~

The yard intimidated Gwen. Queen Morgause’s studs waited in ordered lines, stripped bare and primed for viewing. Their cocks ranged from the respectable to downright daunting, their skin oiled to best display their musculature. Gwen kept close to Morgana’s side.

“Him,” she finally said, picking one who looked at her with quiet blue eyes. 

“Are you certain, girl?” Queen Morgause said. “Surely you would prefer something more exotic? This is a fine specimen from Essetir.” She flicked a towering male a few paces away with her switch.

“You may have any you desire,” Morgana reminded her, firmly ignoring her sister. 

“Him, please,” Gwen whispered. The queen sighed, muttering about unimaginative country girls and local stock. 

Morgana beamed, gifting her a golden lead to affix to his collar.

~*~

Gwen tied his wrists to the posts of her bed with shaking hands.

“Is this okay?” she asked. “It’s custom for you to be bound until— until we develop a rapport. I do not wish you to be uncomfortable…” Her voice trailed off. Of course a breed-mate from the queen’s yard would already know their custom. 

He flexed his wrists, forearms cording beautifully. “I’m fine, mistress,” he said, eyes half-lidded. His mouth didn’t change, but still she felt sure he was smiling. 

Gwen nodded, swallowing. She couldn’t quite catch her breath. His whole body was hard between her knees, and much larger than Merlin, or any of the practice males she’d sampled. His cock nudged her where she was tender and wet beneath her new gown, reminding her she was surrounded on all sides by proof of her lady’s favour. She shuddered, fumbling in her eagerness to fit his hot prick between her legs. 

His girth made her whimper as she rode him, filling herself hard and fast until he prodded her cunt into its first shocking roll of pleasure. She did it again, dragging her nails down his chest, and again, digging frantic and indelicate for her release while he panted, eyes urgent and so blue. 

She let him spend tucked tight inside her while her thighs quaked around his hips.

~*~

“Gwen!” Morgana turned at the sound of her door closing, setting her book aside. “Did you enjoy yourself? Come here,” she beckoned, surprised to feel a tremble in Gwen’s legs when she touched them.

Quickly reaching up beneath her skirt, Morgana sank four fingers inside her up to the knuckle, making her gasp. 

“ _Morgana_ ,” she groaned, forgetting herself. 

“Oh,” Morgana said, mouth falling open. “Oh love, you’re so wet. You chose so well, good girl,” she said, steadily pressing deeper until Gwen took the whole of her fist and came, sobbing desperately against her shoulder.

* * *

**#43**

Gwen finds a quiet spot in the corner where the cafe looks more like a library or a bookstore. There's just enough room in her seat to sit comfortably cross-legged and the fairy lights strung up around the room soften the harsh corners. The music from the used records and other sundries section of the shop is loud enough to contribute to the ambient noise in the cafe and Gwen happily pulls a notebook and two pens from her messenger bag. 

Before she can start writing, the tread of boots sound on the wooden steps that lead to her corner and Gwen can't help but smile. 

"Hello, lovely." Morgana places a mug and dish at Gwen's elbow. "You're looking very writerly today. I think it's the frothy scarf."

"I'm going to take that as a compliment and say thank you. For this, too," she adds and nods at the tea. "Can you finish early?"

Morgana fingers the edge of Gwen's scarf, then touches her hair, brief and soft and intimate. "I have about an hour to go, then I'm yours."

Three cups of tea, one plate of assorted biscuits, and two Dylan records later, Gwen has four pages of ideas mapped out for her latest project. Morgana's presence is a hum at the back of her thoughts, a quick press of a hand to her shoulder, a shared smile over the bergamot-scented steam of her refilled mug. 

By the end of the hour, the hum has become a soft pulse of need. Gwen packs up her bag, brings her dishes to the front of the cafe, and rests a hand at the small of Morgana's back. 

"Back to yours?" Morgana's hair's tied up in a messy bun and she's rolled the sleeves of her black button-up shirt to her elbows. Only Morgana can pull this off quite right--her hair mussed, her shirt two sizes too big, a frayed rip at the knee of her skinny jeans--and look polished.

_Wild civility_ , Gwen thinks, touches her tongue to her lips at the sight of the dark tendrils against fair skin, and says, "Yes." 

And again, "Yes," when she can finally shut the door of her flat and press her face to the back of Morgana's neck.

Morgana sighs, low and sweet at the back of her throat. It's been two weeks since Gwen's heard that sound, two weeks since they've found time to be this: together, alone. 

Gwen's lips move from the soft tendrils at the nape of Morgana's neck to just behind her ear, where she breathes lightly to pull another deep sigh from Morgana. They're quiet and still for a moment, so close that Gwen can feel the beat of Morgana's heart against her body.

Gwen waits until she has Morgana's bare shoulders and breasts in front of her, then she pulls the clip from her hair. She loves this moment--the scent of tea and coffee and books and patchouli-vanilla perfume oil on Morgana's skin, her long, dark hair curling around her breasts and tickling the tips of her tight, pink nipples. Gwen cups her hands around Morgana's breasts, brushes her thumbs over her nipples until she knows from Morgana's short, sharp breaths that she's wet and needy. 

Her own longing is a shivering, desperate sensation, the uncontrollable desire to be touched and filled. Gwen grabs Morgana's hand, guides it between her thighs, and rubs herself against the firm press of Morgana's thumb to the seam of her jeans. 

"Here," she says, voice high with need, "now, just..."

Morgana smiles again, and there's some fumbling with buttons and zippers and Gwen thinks maybe they ought to find the bedroom or the floor, but then there's the slide of warm fingers into her jeans and--

\--and _oh_. Oh, god, there's not time for anything else but this, the rise of her breath and scent of Morgana's hair in her face and the pounding of blood through her body. Morgana touches her just right, not gently or carefully, but firm and almost rough, and there is a wildness between them, one they catch and control only with fretted whispers and jagged kisses. 

Gwen comes fast and hard, biting kisses against Morgana's lips. Afterwards, she kisses her more tenderly, whispering broken lines of poetry against the corner of her mouth and the curve of her collarbone. 

She kisses Morgana like she can erase the time they spend apart and alone.

* * *

**#44**

Elena had always been a collector. When she was a kid she used to collect comics; when she got older she collected sports memorabilia; and now she collected cunts.

“Is it okay if I take pictures?”

She already had a hand curled around her phone. Vivian looked down at her, flushed pink, her hair falling out of its bun in trailing strands. “Seriously? You weirdo.”

“It’s not like I share them.” She was very careful. She had a special password-protected folder and everything. “No faces, and they’ll go straight onto my computer.”

Vivian rolled her eyes in an exaggerated display of reluctance. “ _Fine_.” 

She flopped back on the bed, head against her floral-printed pillows, and spread her legs. Elena settled between them, thumbing open the camera. She didn’t always take pictures, but Vivian just had such a pretty pussy. All pink and perfect, shaved ever so neatly – everything about Vivian was so neat and tidy – whorled like a special, secret fingerprint between her legs. 

Elena snapped a couple of pictures of it, turning the flash on to capture the glisten of wetness, then touched her, spreading her apart, exposing her hot dark-pink cunt. She took a picture, and another.

“Are you _quite_ finished?” Vivian was inspecting her nails, feigning boredness. As if she wasn’t enjoying the attention. Vivian loved having her picture taken.

“Almost.” Elena pushed her fingers deeper, sliding them up inside Vivian, making her gasp; and she took a picture of Vivian like that, her tight pussy spread wide about Elena’s stubby fingers.

Vivian said, “you’re done.” She pried Elena’s phone out of her unresisting fingers and tossed it down her king-sized bed. She rolled Elena over and straddled her, her tits bouncing against her chest as she moved. “And if you share those pictures with anyone, I will ruin you.”

She could, as well. Vivian’s dad was in the House of Lords. If she put her mind to it, Elena was sure Vivian could ruin any future career she might have. “Noted.” She spread her own legs, tangling them about Vivian’s.

“Lube,” said Vivian breathily.

(She swore that she hadn’t done more than kiss a girl until that evening; swore that Elena was the first girl she’d ever fucked. But Elena had known it was a lie even before Vivian was licking her pussy with a kind of precision that would only come with practice.)

The lube was on Vivian’s nightstand, next to a lamp with a shade that matched her bedsheets and a photo of her with – was that her boyfriend? Elena hadn’t asked and wasn’t going to. She uncapped the bottle and drizzled lube between her legs, wincing at the coldness. 

Vivian was arranging herself, leaning backwards, her hands flat on the bed. Elena had barely got the cap back on the bottle when Vivian was pressing her smooth, shaved pussy up against hers.

For all the girls she fucked, she didn’t do this very often – because logistics, and because Elena’s type of girl tended to be more into receiving oral than anything else. But here they were, Vivian grinding her cunt against Elena’s like she’d done it a hundred times, and Elena could hardly breathe. The room was full of the wet, lewd sounds of their bodies moving together, and Vivian’s gasping breaths; and it was making her head spin.

Vivian said, “ _yes_ , that’s nice,” and she shifted, shifted so that she was grinding right up against Elena’s clit, so that Elena cried out, clenching her fingers against Vivian’s duvet, screwing the cloth into balls in her fists.

She was so wet she was dripping. She felt liquid streaking hot down her thigh, and the sensation was enough to tip her over the edge. She came, her eyes tight shut, her cunt clenching and unclenching, thrumming with it.

When she opened her eyes, Vivian’s head was tossed back, and she was gasping, gasping, as she came, her cunt pressed raw and hot against Elena’s.

They sat a moment, their pussies still touching lightly, throbbing; and then Vivian disentangled herself and reached for Elena’s phone. Ignoring Elena’s protests – she hated people looking at her pictures – she thumbed open the gallery and scrolled through the pictures of her own cunt. “These are pretty,” she remarked, as if she was looking at photos of, like, flowers, or paintings in an art gallery. “I like this one.” She tossed Elena her phone, a photo on the screen of Elena’s fingers buried to the knuckle in Vivian’s cunt.

* * *

**#45**

Arthur and Morgana are dancing. They circle each other with slow and studied steps, their left hands raised and clasped. 

Morgana's ruby silk dress shimmers.

Step, step, turn. Step, step, turn. They are a very handsome couple.

Suddenly Morgana reaches for Merlin, gesturing for him to join her in the dance. Her smile is happy and carefree.

Merlin pulls back. He looks to the dais. Arthur and Uther are sitting there, staring straight ahead, their faces impassive. 

He cowers against the wall. 

Morgana's dress is suddenly dark as night, storm-ravaged. Her eyes pierce him and pin him down as she throws her hands in the air, her tattered sleeves transforming into a flock of starlings that take flight in a rush.

Merlin hurries to the window. Without hesitation he throws himself into the air to follow the departing birds. 

He speeds on with all the strength that his sleek falcon's body allows, but he feels frozen in mid-air, his wings beating ineffectually.

There's a black swan approaching. It has fiery eyes and wears a golden coronet. The swan plunges towards Merlin with an agonized, furious scream. 

He drops from the sky. 

He is falling, falling...

He stands on a cobbled street. The houses have windowless walls. He starts walking. “This is Ealdor,” he thinks. “I'm home.” 

The blind walls seem forbidding. The streets are empty. Bewildered, he looks around, searching for clues. 

Morgana stands right behind him, wrapped in a Pendragon-red cloak. She is barefoot. Her long hair hangs loose. 

She squints. “Are you the one?” 

He reaches for the edge of her cloak. “I might be.” 

She starts twirling down the street. He doesn't let go of the cloak. The fabric stretches out between them, a river of crimson as Morgana spins away from him. 

Just when Merlin knows that the cloak will never end, it ends. 

Morgana stands nude on the cold cobblestones, holding herself proudly. She is beautiful. Her skin is the palest pink, the colour of the castle garden's honeysuckles and roses. Her firm breasts, the curves of her hips, her dark triangle of pubic hair captivate him. 

His cock responds eagerly. 

Suddenly he realizes that he's naked too. With a mortified yelp he covers himself with his hands and crouches down, blushing furiously. 

Morgana shrugs and leaves without a backwards glance. 

He follows her at a distance. She walks past a sombre forest and enters a ring of standing stones. Surrounded by the tall jutting rocks, she lies down in the lush grass, her body striped by long shadows. 

Merlin moves forward cautiously. His heart is racing. 

He's fully erect.

He's frightened.

His eyes meet hers, bright and clear. Kneeling by her side, he caresses her shoulder and lets his palm slide along her arm, across her hip, down her thigh. Her skin is smooth and soft. She relaxes under his hands and sighs in pleasure. Her legs fall wide open in sensual invitation.

He needs to touch and see. He wants to smell and taste. Her secret flesh is a heady shade of red; the colour of his cock. She's juicy as a ripe apple under his tongue, sweet as strawberries. He licks and suckles at her core, parting the folds of skin to reach within. Morgana arches under him, laughing in delight. 

Merlin's on the brink.

A rose petal swirls through the air. Another follows.

It's suddenly raining petals, hot pink and red and coral, - some even the dusky colour of dried blood. There's a strong, sweet scent in the air.

Morgana playfully scoops petals across herself and into Merlin's lap. 

The rose rain continues, relentless. Merlin's suffocating, he's drowning in beautiful and dangerous scarlet. He can't breathe, he's gasping for air, he's.....

He sits up in bed with a jolt, his heart thudding loudly in the dark.

* * * 

Early the next day he knocks on Lady Morgana's chamber door with hope and apprehension. It's like diving into a dark, deep lake; the unknown waits beneath the surface.

There are black circles under Morgana's eyes. 

“I am tired of being afraid,” Merlin tells her. “Help me overcome my deepest fear, and I will help you with yours.”

He opens his hand to reveal a bright blue flame, dancing on his palm. 

Morgana blinks. She observes the proof of his magic in silence, her expression unreadable. 

Merlin waits. 

Then she leans in to press her lips to his. The kiss is warm, knowing and sure. She smiles. 

“Yes.”

* * *

**#46**

She slowly unzips her partner's jeans, helps tug them down those long legs, and leans back when ze pulls them over zir ankles. Ze's wearing black briefs with the Batman logo, and she giggles before laying a kiss right under the black and yellow insignia.

-

“What are your pronouns?”

“I'm gender-neutral, ze/zir. You?”

“She/her. Nice to meet you, Morgan.”

“And you, Gwen.”

-

“I was really hoping to have sex with you tonight,” Morgan said.

“Oh! Me too,” Gwen agreed, “but, um, how do you get off?”

Morgan grinned like a cat with both cream and mouse. “I have partner checklists.”

Gwen looked them over with widening eyes. “These are... extensive.”

-

They get as undressed as they want to be: Morgan in zir binder and dog tags, and Gwen in her lacy panties and a tattoo on her hip.

“... kiss me.”

-

“I never take off my shirt except to shower,” Morgan said.

“So where can I touch, and how?” Gwen asked.

-

Morgan kisses her into the pillows, black fingernails tugging on her hair. Ze spreads zir legs wide to straddle Gwen, to hold her down and bite her lip, to tug on Gwen's hair and kiss zir way from jaw to collarbone. When Gwen moans and arches her back- please, please, touch my nipples- Morgan tugs her hair to expose her sensitive ears, and sucks at those instead.

-

“Major erogenous zones?” asked Morgan.

“My nipples are really sensitive.”

“So are my feet, and my clit.”

“Okay,” said Gwen. “What do you call your various parts?”

Morgan gestured chestward. “This is just my chest. No special word. But this,” and now ze gestured between zir legs, “is my cunt. The rest gets scientific names. Perineum, anus, whatever. I don't like euphemisms.”

“Good to know,” Gwen said, nodding.

“And you?”

“Well, I don't really... call my stuff anything. Well, I call it my stuff. Or my junk. But I don't want you to touch it during sex. Sometimes I do, but I can get off just from my tits, or neck, or fingers,” Gwen said, and a flush rose as she spoke. “Right, yes. So I call these my tits or breasts, but you can call them anything short of bazongas and that's fine...”

“Bazongas?” Morgan laughed, and Gwen couldn't help but join zir.

“You know! People have the silliest names, and frankly bazongas implies a size I don't actually have, without the breast forms on.”

“Okay, no bazongas,” Morgan said, “and waist off-limits. Anything else?”

“I don't think so,” Gwen said. “What's next on this checklist?”

“Take a look,” Morgan prompted.

“... Kinks! Morgan, must we right now?”

“Oh, we really must.”

“Could we start vanilla, and pull out the handcuffs later? Because I'm pretty vanilla anyways, and I love a good cuddle as much as a wild shag.”

Morgan eyed her, and nodded. “Sounds good to me.”

“So please... kiss me.”

-

Gwen starts with one foot. Her tongue presses between two black-painted toes and they curl in response, but Gwen has one hand wrapped around zir ankle. She nips Morgan's toe. It's not a punishment. Her strong fingers massage the bones of zir ankle, the muscles of zir foot, the beginning of zir calf, and she can feel Morgan melting into the sofa. She starts laying kisses in the arch of Morgan's foot, up the inside of zir leg, up to the back of zir leg until she has one leg bent over her shoulder.

She can feel Morgan's pulse pick up under her tongue as she licks and sucks at the pale skin. She knows that Morgan's cunt- the place ze's named as ze wishes- would be wet if she chose to feel it, but... as Gwen takes her sweet time to spread Morgan's legs and kiss her way up, the most arousing thought is how lucky she is.

How lucky to have found someone who has fought for a pronoun and a body that is zir own from buzzed hair to bound chest to defiant voice. How lucky Gwen is to have found someone who will, maybe, love her the same way. Maybe.

She takes that joy, that gratitude, that arousal and desire, and finally, finally, buries herself in Morgan's cunt. And it is beautiful.

* * *

**#47**

Inspired by the poem/song The Highwayman.

Gwaine hissed as Merlin’s blunt teeth bit into the flesh around his collar bone. He couldn't see Merlin’s face fully from the light of the one small candle, but he didn't need to. His pale skin would be flushed and sweaty, and his eyes would burn with more than just magic.

"One last kiss for luck. I am after a prize tonight." 

Merlin drew him deeply into his lips. "Come back to me, with the speed of Hell if you must."

"Look for me under the moonlight. The silver of my sword will shine safe return." Gwaine pressed his lips on Merlin's forehead before leaving him in their stable rendezvous place. There was gold to be had, and his love to return to. 

***

A sense of dread hit Gwaine to his bones. His prize was won, but red-cloaked knights clogged the roads so thick it looked like blood moving across the ground. 

It took slow timing, but Gwaine made it to Merlin, only to find the Inn crawling with Uther's knights.

***  
It wasn't Gwaine that entered the inn, when the moonlight lighted the earth with it's silver glow, but knights wearing the crimson capes of Camelot. 

And they were looking for him. Merlin knew it when a knight's eyes glinted and he gave a smile full of broken teeth. "Well, lookie here, men. The paramour of the dirty dog we are hunting."

Merlin didn't get far in his attempt to escape. His arms were seized before he took four steps. "Bind the whore!"

Tied to a chair, Merlin tried to break his bonds with strength or magic. Neither worked. The knights must have come prepared for magical prisoners.

Even though the king’s men made themselves freely associated with the ale, there was always a guard, armed with a crossbow, watching Merlin. 

"So, tell me. Do you think your lover will come for you?" one of the guards asked him. Merlin didn't respond to him, but looked out the window stubbornly.

"Because we are hoping he will."

***

The logical thing would be to stay where he was and wait until the patrol left. And hope that he could see a glimpse of Merlin to settle his worry.

But Gwaine was never logical. And as far as he knew, Merlin was trapped inside.

Raising his sword, the moon flashed silver off the blade. 

***

Merlin saw it, a quick flash of light, and he knew with a sinking, heavy dread in his stomach that Gwaine was outside.

Pulling on the ropes, Merlin screamed out, "Run, Gwaine!" before he heard a _twang_. 

Merlin never felt the bolt pierce his heart. 

*** 

Gwaine heard Merlin's cry for him to run right before the inn door burst open and knights ran out, swords drawn. But it didn't matter if there was one or a hundred men; all Gwaine saw was Merlin's body on the floor, blood soaking his white shirt. 

Anger swamped Gwaine, turning the dutiful knight into a savage. Sword raised, he raced from his hiding spot, determined only to make the knights bleed as Merlin did.

The first two went down so quickly he barely registered their presence. Turning to face a third, Gwaine met with a crossbow, not a sword, and he realized his mistake before the bolt buried deep in his gut.

Gwaine fell in the dirt yard, blood coating his hand. A few of the men were laughing, talking about how he went down like a rabid dog, but Gwaine’s eyes locked onto Merlin's lifeless ones.

"We'll meet under the moonlight, my love."

* * *

**#48**

“Stand and Deliver!”

There were few who’d dare to challenge the supremacy of the Pendragon name so Arthur could forgive himself for not realising what was happening until it was too late.

“Stand and deliver! Your money or your life!” the voice cried out again, a note of agitation present.

And yet he should have realised something like this would have happened. All the ridiculous things in life happened to him after all. Nothing like this ever happened to _Morgana_.

Arthur remained silent, reaching for the sword inside his coach box. He supposed he should be glad there was only one highwayman but, really, how was only one a challenge to a man of his skill? He was almost insulted.

Arthur positioned himself by the door in preparation of attack; the moment the blackguard would try to enter Arthur would bludgeon him back to his formative years.  
And yet no attack came.

Frustrated with the silence, and as a man born with little patience, Arthur was the first to break the stalemate.

“Hark scoundrel! How goes my man?”

A voice replied from the darkness with much amusement.

“Your man, my lady? He yet still lives. For how much longer I am uncertain though, if you do not disembark and face me. It’s wholly possible you may yet be driving your own coach home.”

Arthur swore vigorously, ignoring the snort of laughter from his unwanted companion that followed in its wake.

Arthur could not leave the poor driver to such a fate.

Silently Arthur checked his daggers were all in place before trying his best to hide the sword beneath his coat tails; one could never underestimate the element of surprise.

He gripped the door handle hard before forcing it open with much pomp and ceremony.

“I am no lady, blackguard,” Arthur called out to figure illuminated by the coaches lamps. He was quite skinny for a bandit really, his face hidden beneath an ugly neckerchief and hair covered by a hat an unfortunate shade of green. 

“I am THE Lord Pendragon and you will address me as such.” 

“My mistake _My Lord_ ,” the highwayman returned, words filled with so much sarcasm and scorn that Arthur felt he’d never been so insulted in his life- even by Morgana who often compared unfavourably to fleas.

The scoundrels eyes, the only defining feature of him still visible, glowed with mischievous intent. “But your demeanour was so delicate that I felt certain you must be a lady.”

Arthur scowled and flung a dagger, just missing his target.

“We don’t have to fight,” the bandit continued, “Just hand over your money and we may both be on our way.”

“Oh we’re definitely going to fight,” Arthur declared, “And I warn you boy-- I’ve been trained to kill since birth.”

Arthur charged recklessly, brandishing his sword from his sheath as the bandit met him with his own attack. 

Slowly they danced together until Arthur swung and knocked off the bandits unfortunate hat revealing masses of dark tresses underneath.

“You’re a woman!”

“Yes, now hand over your purse.”

Arthur finally took his eyes off her face only to notice the pistol in her hands.

“That’s cheating,” Arthur said darkly. There was nothing honourable about bringing a pistol into a sword fight.

“To be fair I am a highwayman, so you ought to have expect something like this,” The woman insisted. “Also, I like to have the element of surprise if I need it.”

Arthur scowled.

“You know Lord Pendragon, I quite like you,” she said pressing her body against his own, one hand moving in slow caress from his lips to his shoulders to his thigh, while the other remained true with a gun at his heart.

“My name is Arthur,” he grits out, studiously avoiding her gaze. She was beautiful in an odd ethereal way and he could feel his body reacting to her presence.

“If we had met under different circumstances, Arthur, I like to think I would have let you take me,” she looked at him contemplatively. “I would have ridden you like I ride my horse on a summers day, slowly at first then hard all at once until I get my satisfaction. My cunt would be sapping with you and you would shout my name to the heavens while I shake with our pleasure.”

Slowly her wandering hand gripped his erection before she stepped back with a sigh.

“Sadly though, this time I’ll just snatch your purse,” she said, Arthur's coin bag in her hand. “Mayhap next time I’ll snatch your heart.”

* * *

**#49**

Morgana saw the rocks tumbling down, cutting off Arthur's anguished scream, and knew she would finally have her perfect revenge. She had taken everything else from him: his kingdom, his bride and his father. She'd soiled his innocence, bruised his pride and battered his self-confidence, but nothing – _nothing_ – had truly broken Arthur. Taking Merlin from him would. 

She could have just killed the boy, leave him like a broken toy for Arthur to find, but no. She wanted to savour this, still wanted more, the same thing she'd always wanted. 

_Arthur is thirteen, gangly and awkward like an ugly duckling, and she presses a kiss to his temple, the only one who gives him the affection he craves like his next breath._

''I didn't want to poison you,'' Merlin whispered, hanging from his wrists where rough rope tore into his skin. ''I had no choice.''

She knew that, knew how magic worked now, but that wasn't the reason she hated him. He had taken what was hers. That he had never realised it only added insult to injury. She wanted to hurt him, but she wanted to make Arthur watch even more. 

_Arthur is fourteen and growing up, training and trying to satisfy all the expectations weighing on his shoulders, and always, always he's looking at her for reassurance._

Arthur came for Merlin like he never came for her. The King of Camelot himself, searching for a lowly servant. She led him in circles, revelling in his fear and desperation before lifting the glamour so he could find her. 

When he stepped inside with his sword drawn, she was ready, pressed against Merlin's back with a dagger at the boy's throat – the same dagger Arthur had given her as a present once. The shock and dismay painted on his face was beautiful, but it wasn't her he was looking at. 

''Arthur,'' she drawled. ''You're just in time for the show. How do you like my new pet?''

The blade of the dagger let dark drops of blood well up on its path down Merlin's chest and when the boy hissed through his teeth, Arthur's eyes, blazing with fury now, were finally on her.

_Arthur is fifteen and so eager to please when she guides his hand to her chest and shows him how to touch her just right._

''Let him go, Morgana. This is our fight. He's got nothing to do with it. He's just a servant.''

Morgana laughed derisively. ''Oh, I think we both know that he is so much more than that, Arthur.''

With a malicious little smile she let her hand glide down between Merlin's legs, grabbing his groin and squeezing harshly, her nails digging into his balls. 

''Isn't he a delicious little morsel? If you don't use him, why shouldn't I have some fun with him?''

''What do you want?'' Arthur growled. 

Morgana raised her eyebrows. ''Funny that you should ask...'' 

She made Merlin watch this time. Made him watch as his king went down on his knees and let her tie his hands behind his back. Then she lifted her skirts and spreads her legs. 

''Come, Arthur,'' she whispered. ''You know how this works, don't you? I've trained you well, after all.''

_Arthur is sixteen and sucking her cunt like he was born to do it, lapping at her juices until she breaks apart._

She smirked at Merlin's shocked face, at the pain in his eyes that had nothing to do with his chafed wrists and cut chest. 

And Arthur complied. Kneeling between her legs, he bent forward and pressed a soft kiss to the inside of her thigh. He let his mouth travel up further, finding her wet folds and licking her open with long, slow strokes of his tongue. She closed her eyes when he found her pleasure spot and sucked it hard, making her shudder and roughly grip his hair. This was how it should always have been.

_Arthur is seventeen and his eyes are drawn away from her, following a scrawny boy with too large ears instead._

She clamped her thighs around him, riding his face and rubbing her juices all over him as she came with an angry, desperate moan. 

For a moment the glory of completion was all there was, then the world pulled her back. 

''You were supposed to be mine,'' she snarled, shoving Arthur to the floor.

_Arthur is eighteen and so in love he has no idea what to do, or what he wouldn't do, and Morgana will never forgive him for this._

* * *

**#50**

Artoria wakes panting and clammy, her night gown wet and panties damp between her legs. The fragments of the dream flee before the breaking of the sun. She sighs, incomplete and unfulfilled in ways she doesn't understand.

-

The new girl is tall and pale, with piercing blue eyes, and cheekbones to kill for. 

Artoria finds her amazingly cool and mysterious. She expects Merlin to come in and win everyone over with easy charm or sharp smiles and she gets neither. Merlin, it seems is less mysterious and more reclusive, preferring to stay in her corner and talk only when called upon. 

Artoria catches her staring a few times; Merlin's gaze is a powerful thing, burning into her soul. Sometimes, she thinks she knows those blue eyes, the same way she knows the summer sun browning her skin and green grass tickling her toes and the heat of a crackling fire warming her fingers. It feels like magic.

-

The dragon accosts her, Gwen, and Morgana after school. It's wounded and fleeing, but it slows when it spots the girls, and approaches without hesitation. 

"Hello," the dragon says. Artoria calls it a dragon, because that's all it can possibly be, despite what her mind is telling her. "Do you have a wish?"

Morgana's the first to recover, her eyes narrowing as she studies the creature. Artoria watches her, a shiver running down her spine. It's the middle of spring, but the air feels cold. 

"A wish?" Morgana repeats, but the creature can't reply, because Merlin rounds the corner, yelling something in a foreign tongue. She's in a black and purple dress, short enough to make her long legs seem endless, and she flings her hand out, eyes glowing golden as she repeats her words. It's an order and Artoria, despite not understanding, feels something tug at her core. 

The dragon hisses but flies off. 

-

"It's magic," Morgana says, the next morning. 

"What do you mean?" Gwen cries, twisting her hands together. Artoria looks at Gwen, her stomach sinking. This won't be good.

"You get a wish," Morgana repeats, "and in exchange, you fight. It's perfect."

There's a maniacal gleam in Morgana's eye and an ethereal beauty to her features, and she's never been more beautiful or more fragile. 

-

Gwen cries and cries, clutching Morgana to her as Morgana's life drains away and Merlin fights the witch. Artoria watches from the side, horror and awe in her chest as she watches. 

"You can help her," Aithusa says, approaching on silent paws and startling Artoria. "Fight by her side, help her win this."

Merlin screams at Aithusa in those same foreign words from yesterday, and Aithusa disappears, but not before hissing, "Remember, Artoria Pendragon. You can help."

"Don't listen to her," Merlin warns, the words harsh and heavy. Artoria can hear the desperation behind them, filled with enough sorrow that Artoria wants to cry. 

-

"They want magic," Merlin tells her, later that night. They've known each other two days, but it feels more like a lifetime. She curls into Merlin just right, the unfulfilled parts of her suddenly whole, and they move together in perfect harmony. She knows the way Merlin trembles beneath her, arches up and cries against her breast, knows the way she tastes when she slides down and finds Merlin sweet, hot center. It feels like an ending and a beginning, and she clings tightly, hard enough to bruise. 

Merlin's cry of completion is achingly familiar and it stirs Artoria in return. It takes only Merlin's breath against her clit, slender fingers inside her to take her over the edge. 

"They want magic," Merlin repeats, when they're sated and curled up together. "They seek girls with potential. Their death releases magic, and it's that they want."

"The fights?" 

"Where do you think the witches come from?" 

Artoria shudders, thinking about the fight earlier, the witch Merlin killed, and Morgana, in green and black, prostrate in Gwen's arms. 

-

"You can help," Aithusa whispers. "You can save Merlin."

Artoria watches, helpless and aching, as Merlin falls back and struggles to get up, winded and wounded. One of these falls will be the end of her.

"Make a wish to save your friend," Aithusa says, "and you can stop this."

Artoria draws in a sharp breath, knowledge blooming in her chest. She can end this altogether.

"I wish," she begins, as Merlin falls once more. She doesn't get back up. "I wish for magic to exist again."

* * *

**#51**

“You’re a woman.” Gaius said, stating the obvious. 

Merlin was too frustrated to answer. He fell back into the pile of soft pillows on Arthur’s bed, no longer caring that Gaius now knew that this was where he spent his nights. 

He’d _just_ been enjoying a nice dream about Arthur sucking him off, all hot and wet. When he'd reached out to stroke his cock and found it… gone! His screams had woken up Arthur and when the king’s eyes lingered on his chest he realized he’d also grown a pair of breasts overnight. 

“It’s obviously magic,” Arthur stated, “We just need to find a spell or potion to reverse it, right?” 

“It is magic,” Gaius confirmed, “But why? Who would benefit from turning Merlin into… a female?”

“I don’t care why, just fix it. Now!” Merlin was no longer staying calm about this. 

“I don’t know any spells to switch gender. It must have been something powerful.” Gaius proceeded by running tests and asking a million questions. Were there any newcomers in the castle? Did Merlin eat food that wasn’t prepared in the palace kitchens? Any gifts they received?

Suddenly Arthur paled. “I did receive a gift, from Queen Annis... A wooden statuette. She wrote me a letter.” 

Arthur went over to his writing table, nervously looking for the letter in a large pile of papers. Merlin never did get around to sorting Arthur’s mail. 

"She thanked me for our collaboration during the harsh winter. “ Arthur said, scanning the document he’d recovered, “Said she hoped to hear about the birth of a son to continue my legacy. The statuette, a Venus figurine from the great kingdom of Moravia, is said to bring fertility and prosperity.”

Arthur looked up. “I thought she was talking about crops…”

Gaius inspected the statuette after Arthur fetched it. “Sire, does Queen Annis know that you… no longer share living quarters with Queen Guinevere?” 

Gwen had already been staying with Lancelot for over a year. But only those close to the king were really aware of the fact.

Gaius inspected the engravings in the dark wood. “She probably didn’t realize how powerful this is,” he muttered. “There is deep magic inside of it.”

“Wait,” Merlin started, “I have been turned into a woman… by an inanimate piece of wood?”

After a long day of staying hidden, worrying about the implications of the magical figurine, Merlin was relieved when Arthur crawled into bed with him that evening. When he reached out to touch, Merlin tensed at first, at the unfamiliar feeling of familiar hands touching his breasts, nipples even more sensitive than they already were. 

“You helped me become the king I am today, Merlin,” Arthur said softly. “It makes sense you are the one to carry my future as well.”

“Once and future King,” Merlin sighed, echoing the prophecy. He never could have imagined _this_.

“We don’t have to… If you don’t want to…” Arthur stumbled over his words. They really hadn’t discussed this properly.

“Well I sure as hell am not going the rest of my life without sex!” 

Arthur was a good lover. They had been together for such a long time that Merlin had taken for granted how well Arthur knew what he liked, how well Arthur knew his body. Now everything was awkward again. Though it was definitely interesting to discover all the new ways in which he could be touched and kissed, he didn't quite manage to get the friction or the stimulation he wanted. 

He was very fond of Arthur's fingers but as they explored his new vagina he couldn't help a little frustrated sigh.

"Arthur, you’ve pleasured women before, right? Can't you do it right?"

Merlin almost felt guilty watching Arthur turn scarlet.

"Shall I fuck you properly then?"

Merlin nodded eagerly. 

Arthur still held back too much, their rhythm was off but it was pleasant for both of them, in more ways than one.

When he felt Arthur was close, his eyes fell on the statuette on the bedside table. Merlin knew the magic was right there with them. Moaning loudly he welcomed the feeling of Arthur's seed inside of him.

"I may be pregnant now but you still have nine months to get better at this," Merlin said afterwards. "If not, I'm going to take out all my sexual frustration on your arse the day I have my cock back."

"That promise or a threat," Arthur grinned. When he kissed Merlin, one hand travelled to rest on his belly.

* * *

**#52**

“Sire! We found him at the back!” Leon says and pulls the skinny figure up. 

“What happened to this one?” Arthur asks. He heart sinks as he scans the boy’s glazed blue eyes and shaking limbs. Has he failed yet another of his people? 

Leon grimaces, “Sometimes the brothels use herbs to ensure they can, er, keep performing for clients. Giaus gave us something to help with this.” 

Anger mingled with regret washes over Arthur. They weren’t able to storm this area earlier. It’s not in Camelot’s but many of those kidnapped are from Camelot. 

“Unshackle him and do it in the side room,”Arthur says. 

Except that nothing goes according to plan. 

When Arthur goes into the side room, the boy snatches his arm and won’t let go. Arthur doesn’t have the heart to shake him off. “Fine, I’ll handle him, you clear the rest of the place,” Arthur tells Leon. 

When Arthur tries to feed him Giaus’ potion, the boy’s eyes glow golden and the glass smashes to the floor. “What did you go and do that for?” Arthur shouts, before realising what just happened. How is it he can feel the boy’s hands burning on his shoulders even through his chain mail? 

“Please,” the boy says.”That won’t help. By now, only…” 

Arthur watches in shocked disbelief when the boy’s engorged cock comes into view, red and angry and weeping, just as the boy is also weeping, tears of frustration and rage and helplessness. Arthur feels his own face screw up too, but reminds himself he’s the Crown Prince, he’s not here to cry over random young boys- young sorcerers- snatched from their home. 

So Arthur doesn’t cry, he does not. Water doesn’t trickle from his eyes and make their way down his cheeks as he gulps and lays the boy gently and shushes him, and tells him he’s sorry, he’ll do what needs to be done. Arthur brushes his lips gently to the boy’s forehead, cheekbones, lips - just to calm him, that’s all. 

Desperate keening sounds pierce Arthur’s gut when he wraps his hands around the boy’s dick. It’s unnaturally turgid and Arthur surveys it as clinically as he might examine a battle plan map. He kneads and pulls, hesitantly as first, forcing himself not to flinch away from the task at hand. 

The boy first moans, then cries out, then shouts in time to Arthur’s tugs. Arthur steels his heart, “It’ll be better, I promise,” he says, but he can barely hear himself. 

Finally it’s done. The dick twitches and a little bit of cum spills out. To Arthur’s relief, it softens to a more normal state. 

The boy lets out a final wail and slumps to the floor. 

Arthur grimly cleans up, dresses the boy and stands to go. 

“Please…” the boy says. 

Arthur sighs. “Fine,” he says. Although he has countless other victims to attend to, he Sweeps the lanky thing up in his arms, hefting the dead weight with some effort. 

Arthur imagines the boy nuzzles him as they struggle out of the whore house. Leon looks at the pair of them but doesn’t say anything.

* * *

**#53**

Burying his face between her parted legs, he attacked her most intimate flesh with passionate fervor. Morgana screamed as she felt his tongue invade her body, snaking inside then darting back and forth with teasing little jabs. Screams became whimpers as he devoured her, licking and sucking her clit, taking the hard nub in his teeth, tugging and twisting gently, slurping up her juices as she shook with orgasm after orgasm. Each time she came he chuckled and lapped up the sweet cream of her helpless pleasure. Tears trickled from her eyes as her belly tightened in unending waves of shaming ecstasy. She didn’t know how many times he made her cum before he finally pulled away from her sensitized flesh. She lay limply on the bed, stunned and staring at the man who’d taken control of her body.

“You see now, don’t you Morgana? How you need me? How you were made for me?”

It was the same, night after night for weeks. He invaded her dreams, and when she woke exhausted in the morning, she couldn’t be sure if what she remembered was real or nightmare.

He claimed he was her future, her destiny, the other half of her soul.

She didn’t answer, instead turning her head to stare sightlessly at the wall. She felt fingers on her chin and looked up, flinching at the sight of the enormous erection rising against his belly.

“Answer me. You need this, don’t you? Your body recognizes what your soul knows. Let me in; open your heart and mind. You are mine…as I am yours.”

Shaking her head, she refused to meet his eyes, ashamed because though his words were true, she couldn’t bear to admit it. Her body might want him, but he couldn’t _make_ her mind accept him. He couldn’t have her heart.

Soft lips ran over her skin, and she shivered under his caresses, willing herself _not_ to feel pleasure at this faceless man’s touch. Soon however, she was panting—moaning--her juices running thick and hot as he ruthlessly exploited her body’s secrets. Finally he spread her thighs and brought his thick cock to her hot, wet cunt. Rubbing the tip against her lips, he coated it in her juices before slowly thrusting into her tightness. His glowing, golden eyes burned into hers. 

“Tell me, Morgana, that you want me, that you want _this_. You feel the connection between us. ” 

She whimpered soundlessly, writhing against him, body screaming to have him inside her. Still, her mind resisted. She didn’t even know _who_ he was. Suddenly he withdrew from her, and she groaned an involuntary protest. 

“Say it, Morgana. Tell me you want me to fuck you, that you want this. You’re dying for it, aren’t you? Say the words, Morgana.” 

He rubbed the tip of his cock against her as he spoke and Morgana vainly tried to push against him, to get him inside without having to speak. He teased her, brushing his hot cock-head against her moist slit again. “Say it, love. Tell me you want me to fuck you, and I will.”

Finally Morgana snapped. “Please, oh God! Please fuck me!”

As soon as the words were out, he pushed inside her hungry cunt. She thrust against him as he stuffed her full of his long thick shaft. She thrashed wildly on his prick, gasping as she stretched to accommodate him. 

There was no holding back as her defenses collapsed. “God, yes! Fuck me! Harder! Don’t stop! That’s it! Give it to me!” 

Smoothly pumping his thick cock inside her clasping pussy, he slammed into her as she bucked wildly against him. Ramming harder and harder, she begged for more, holding onto his shoulders and biting his neck as she slammed her hips to meet his grinding thrusts. She screamed as she came, shuddering wildly, her pussy clenching around him, milking his shaft with rippling contractions as she convulsed ecstatically. 

He shouted hoarsely and stilled above her, his body tense and shaking. Soon she felt the liquid rush of his release and clung tightly to his sweaty body as they both quivered in the aftermath of passion. He rolled over, taking her with him and she sprawled boneless across his chest. 

“Who are you?” she whispered into his skin.

“You know.”

“I…don’t…what are you? Why…what are you to me? I don’t even know your name.”

“You know exactly who I am to you. Say it.”

Defeated she sighed against his chest and whispered aloud for the first time, 

“Yes, Master.”

* * *

**#54**

The first time Gwen has sex, it’s because of Morgana. 

Technically, it’s _with_ Morgana, it’s just that there’s also the bloke from Morgana’s macroeconomics class that she’s been casually fucking. 

Gwen’s legs are spread wide, her knees sinking into the bedcovers, and there’s a dick inside her for the first time. It’s a foreign thing, disorienting and new and she thinks she’d be panicking a little if Morgana wasn’t stroking her hair. 

Gwen’s fingers curl into the sheets as Leon fucks her, thrusts no longer slow and careful. She bites down on her lip, moaning quietly, and Morgana shushes her, fingers running across Gwen’s jaw. 

“Wait,” Morgana says, and Leon slows, his hands still tight on Gwen’s hips. “Hold her up.” 

Leon wraps his hand around Gwen’s waist, giving Morgana room to lie down on her back right under Gwen, her legs spread to the side. Gwen is left staring at Morgana splayed out naked under her, heart stuck in her throat, as Morgana nudges her thighs until Gwen is straddling her. 

Before Gwen can even get used to all the naked skin, Leon slams back in, and Gwen falls forwards, catching herself with both hands on either side of Morgana. Their cunts are rubbing against each other as Leon fucks her, faster now, and Morgana moves with them, her gorgeous breasts bouncing in time with the thrusts. 

Gwen wants to cry. It’s more than she’d hoped for, the way Morgana is moving her hips too, her lips parted and her breath laboured. Gwen wants to kiss her, wants to twist their tongues together until there’s no pulling them apart. 

When Leon fucks Morgana with Gwen still on top of her, she wants to taste the moans falling from Morgana’s mouth. 

*

The first time Gwen gets her mouth on Morgana’s cunt, they’re at a party. Gwen has no idea who the other bloke is, and doubts Morgana does either, but Gwen has a hard time caring too much. She’ll take his cock too, if it means having Morgana like this.

Elena might kill them if she ever finds out what they’ve been doing in her guest bedroom. Not that Gwen is ever going to tell anyone. 

Gwen buries her face between Morgana’s legs, flicking her tongue against her clit with fast, little movements that has Morgana rolling her hips. Gwen fucks herself back on the bloke’s cock, liking the way it’s stretching her. She likes it, even though being fucked isn’t the reason she does this. But it feels good. Even his deep moans make her wet. 

But it’s still nothing compared to seeing Morgana throw her head back and gasp as Gwen’s tongue dips into her, licking slow patterns. Morgana grinds against her mouth, hands coming to twist into Gwen’s hair. When the bloke slams in, Gwen is pushed against Morgana, her face slick with wetness. 

She fucks Morgana with her tongue, greedy for it, so hungry for the way Morgana’s thighs clamp around her head, her moans loud even over the muted music from downstairs. Someone walks by outside the bedroom, but Gwen just keeps going, wants Morgana to come on her tongue. 

Afterwards, Gwen brings herself off while Morgana rides the bloke, her gorgeous body catching the light from the bedside lamp, hips moving in sensuous circles as her hair tumbles down her back. 

*

“Do you like them?”

“I don’t know, they’re alright. I prefer the mint ones.”

“No,” Morgana says, laughing briefly. “The threesomes.”

Gwen blushes, tucking her legs closer to her body. “Oh, yeah. I do.” She becomes painfully aware that they’re sitting on Morgana’s bed. 

“I know I kind of roped you into them.” Morgana looks so earnest then, stripped down. She’s only wearing her flannel pyjamas, her face free of make up. “Please tell me if you’d rather stop.”

“I wanted to.” Gwen swallows, looks down. “I—I like them because you’re there.”

The quiet stretches and Gwen panics. Oh, God. 

The bed dips and Gwen looks up, surprised, to find Morgana’s face close, her eyes wide and searching. And then their lips are pressed together, the tip of Morgana’s tongue sliding across her bottom lip. Gwen whimpers, opens her mouth into the kiss and drowns in the feeling of Morgana’s tongue in her mouth. 

Gwen comes harder than she’s ever come in her life with her fingers digging bruises into Morgana’s hips as Morgana grinds against her, unbearably hot and wet and perfect.

* * *

**#55**

“Will you hurry up and put them in the carriage? The more racket they make the more attention they’ll bring,” Morgana ordered. “Do we want more attention?”

“No, ma’am.”

She smiled. “Don’t forget to gag them, either.”

~*~

Morgana tossed her head back which caused more of her dark hair to come undone from its loose braid. The hands on her hips tightened their grip at the action and prompted her to move faster.

She placed her hands on her partner’s stomach in order to gain some more leverage. His eyes were glued to her bouncing breasts and the sound of his cock sliding in and out of her wet cunt was more than either of them could bare.

The orgasm hit Morgana suddenly and her inner walls clamped down on the cock inside her. It drew a groan from the man below her, the cock quickly softening and enabling her to collapse onto the empty left side of the bed. 

After the afterglow started to fade, Morgana drew the covers up around them. She leaned her head against the pillow and frowned.

“Where is your head at, Arthur? You seem distracted which, I might add, is not the kind of compliment a lady is fond of,” Morgana murmured as she playfully dragged her nails down his sweat slicked chest. 

One of her fingers gently tweaked his nipple and it barely got a response. This was most concerning.

“I do apologize but to be fair you are not very ladylike,” Arthur teased.

She punched his shoulder. “Shut up, Arthur.”

“See?” he laughed.

“Tell me where your head is.”

Arthur sighed. “Do you remember that peasant boy we nearly ran over a few weeks ago?”

“Of course I remember,” Morgana said with a soft giggle. “What about him?”

“I want him.”

~*~

“Now, be a good boy and try not to make too much noise. Understand, Merlin?” Morgana asked while gently patting his cheek.

She couldn’t understand her brother’s fascination with the boy but who she to deny Arthur something he wanted? The only catch in Morgana agreeing to snatch the boy for Arthur was that she be able to have her own fun as well.

~*~

“You want him as a pet?” She slapped his chest in mock anger but did indeed feel a sense of bewilderment. “He’s scrawny and entirely unappealing!”

Arthur smirked. “To you, maybe but I’ve been watching Merlin and I want him.”

“Oh, Arthur after you learn their name the obsession only becomes worse,” Morgana scolded.

“I found someone for too.”

This caused her to smile this time. “Do tell, Arthur.”

~*~

Morgana laughed as Merlin struggled and then turned to the bulkier man beside him. “Now, you Gwaine are quite an impressive creature. I admit that when my brother first told me about you I had my doubts but seeing you changed my mind.”

She leaned into the carriage and ripped the gag off Gwaine’s mouth. Her fingers threaded into his dark hair before yanking the man’s head up roughly. 

“You are lovely, Gwaine.” Morgana whispered, their lips only inches apart. She kissed him and bit down onto his lip hard enough to draw blood. It only excited her even more. “I can’t wait to try you out, pretty boy.”

~*~

“When were you planning to retrieve them?”

The question came out between gasps as Arthur kissed his way down her body. All the talk of the peasant boy and her approval had apparently caused some renewed interest in their previous activities. 

“I was planning for two days from now but father is insisting on us spending quality time during a hunting trip,” Arthur muttered with a roll of his eyes.

Morgana clutched the sheets as Arthur took her beast into his mouth and gently worried the nipple between his teeth. It made it difficult to form any coherent thought but Morgana was always up for a challenge.

“You are a lovely woman, Morgana,” Arthur murmured before drawing her into a passionate kiss.

It was decided then.

* * *

**#56**

If a substitute exists for the roar of an engine under Mithian's hands, or the breathless feelings that rips through her body at the screech of the tires, Mithian hasn't found it yet. 

She laughs, high and clear above the blare of horns. Sirens paint the blurred landscape a smudge of red and blue. 

Mithian shifts into a higher gear and floors it. 

*

"I though it told you to lay low." The Duchess points a long crimson nail at Mithian In a way that suggests she'd enjoy dismembering her. 

"Underground racing is low."

"So you surfaced for air on the 6 o'clock news. What if Guinevere had needed you for a job?"

"She knows where to find me."

Mithian has two absolute needs and number one with a bullet is racing. Hands off the wheel and the itch ever present underneath her skin becomes unbearable. To Mithian, driving is like breathing. 

The Duchess tuts. "Now, what would your mechanic say about that?"

*

(If driving is breathing, Elena is Mithian's lungs.)

*

"Leave her out of this." Her hands are shaking, she hides them out of sight behind her back. 

The Duchess smiles. It reminds Mithian of a shark sensing blood. 

"Then I advise you to be more careful. I'm not as fussy about collateral damage as Guinevere. Getaway drivers are, regrettably, replaceable." 

The newspaper open on her desk screams 'Penn Oil Facilities Robbed: Suspects Still At Large.'

Mithian walks in tight measured steps until she's out of sight. Then she runs. 

*

"Fixed that awful clunking noise and changed the tires out-" Elena shouts over the echoing screams of the crowd. Her welding goggles have left rings across her cheeks again. Mithian loves her impossibly. 

"-are you listening to me? Try and be nice to your tires, you burn through the like matches."

Mithian rolls her eyes. "Yes, yes, and you shout at me every time you have to order a new set. Do I get a kiss for luck?"

Elena smacks her 

 

With a wrench, but it's a small wrench and she's smiling. 

"No such thing as luck. Just win, baby."

" _Drivers start your engines please_ " shouts the announcer. The noise of the crowd swells. 

Mithian leans out the passenger side window. "I always do."

The flag falls and the race begins. 

*

Mithian is many things. A liar is not one. 

*

"You know, the pit crew has black lights," Elena says, voice breathy when Mithian's tongue traces the edge of her bra.

"The pit crew would applaud us. Kara might bake you a cake." 

Elena pulls on Mithian's hair and makes a noise high in her throat when it gets her Mithian's teeth. Mithian's hands are already busy at work unbuttoning coveralls in the cramped backseat. Maybe next time they should spring for a limo. They Kiel having to derail kissing because Elena's giggling and Mithian's swearing in several languages. 

"Finally," she says getting her hands on bare skin. The windows of the car are fogging now, and Elena's breaths come in quick, harsh pants when Mithian works a hand between her thighs. 

"Fuck, Mithian, I need-" Elena says into the corner of her mouth, "I need-"

"I know," she says biting down to hear the high pitched whine that follows. The pink marks she leaves today with be carefully covered under Elena's worksuit tomorrow, taken out and displayed for Mithian and Mithian alone. 

"I wish you could see yourself," Mithian murmurs to Elena twisting and gasping beneath her. Elena's already so wet for her, despite Mithian having yet to get a finger inside. She swallows Elena's answering moan with a kiss. Rubs her through the dripping fabric until the car frame is shaking, echoing Mithian's name in victory. 

*

It's not a replacement for racing. It's possibly better.

* * *

**#57**

Hunith comes across Balinor about a league across the Camelot border. She’s sticky under her leather armor, and tired, and trying hard with every step not to think of her fellow Dragonlords, swinging from the rope. She’d had to get leagues away before she couldn’t hear Kilgarrah roaring anymore, locked under the castle.

“You don’t want to fight me, boy,” is what she says when she stumbles across Balinor in the woods.

“No, I don’t think I do,” he says, scruitinizing her leather armor. Well that was good. There was really only one thing she could be, a woman in leather armor, and Hunith was glad that she didn’t have to conjure something impressive-looking to warn him off. Dragonlords garnered much awe, but at base, they were not all that different from sheep herders. For the world’s biggest, sulkiest sheep.

Eventually, he shrugs. “I’ve got a stew going in that pot. You can share it if you like.”

Hunith allows herself a smile. “Good, then. I’m Hunith.”

“Balinor,” he says. On second look, he’s probably of an age with Hunith herself, his beard just beginning to come in under sharp cheekbones.

He stokes the fire under the pot, while Hunith strips out of her armor and clothing and goes into the river, taking care to scrub away all the sweat, dirt and blood. She feels like a new woman when she emerges, dripping wet.

“Oh,” Balinor says, eyes round.

“Oh,” Hunith echoes, and grimaces. “Sorry. I forget—” she reaches belatedly for her tunic. She’s too used to being around fellow Dragonfolk, who generally regard modesty and manners as excesses fit only for mincing nobility. One has to be free of shame to spend one’s time around dragons, who piss and fuck and eat with the freedom that comes of having the biggest teeth around.

The thought of fucking reminds her that it’s been an _age_ since Hunith’s had a lover. Or even just put a hand down her trousers. And this boy—man—looks lithe and strong, and not a little bit fey. Hunith wonders 

She drops down to sit upon her cloak, her tunic fluttering at her hips. She watches as Balinor’s eyes follow her, and the way she splays her legs haphazardly.

“Are you any good with your mouth?”she said out loud.

He is, in fact, although inexperienced. Balinor licks her good and thorough—the crooks of her thighs, the lips of her vulva, the curling hair.

She reaches down and spreads herself with one hand, so that he can get his tongue pressed even further inside. She feels delicious, like…

“You see that?” She flicks her clit with a finger. “Put your mouth there.” And he does, it’s spectacular.

“Suck it,” she says, and he _does_ , with a delicate care that makes Hunith smile down at his dark head. “Bit harder. Yes—oh—lovely.”

The tree canopy above her dances green, and for a moment Hunith forgets whatever it was she was worried about, because she’s got the sky above her and this warm, wet mouth between her legs.

“Come up here,” she says, almost slurring, and feeling deeply generous. “You can spill in my mouth.”

Balinor _shudders_ at that, and crawls stiltedly up her body, his hand already moving on his prick. He must have been touching himself all this while, for he’s stiff and red and—

“Fuck, _fuck_ ,” Balinor says, curling over, and coming in warm streaks over her breasts and neck.

He’s still shuddering out his pleasure when he adds, “Sorry. Damn. Sorry. I didn’t mean to…”

Hunith is ridiculously charmed by him. How he was so excited by her that he couldn’t wait for her mouth. “Will you get me a wet cloth?”

He cleans off her chest with more care than is quite necessary, cleans her nipples until they point at the sky and Hunith’s clenching down on nothing, and she appropriates his long fingers to fill it up.

* * *

**#58**

Merlin looks at the white line of a thin, old scar on his calf, the only part of his body that isn’t sunburned. He’d lean back on the couch but his back hurts, and he knows skin will start peeling off his shoulders soon. It's always like this. Arthur will be all golden, and Gwen's skin will reach that deep colour of molten chocolate that makes Merlin want to lick it like it’s some luscious dessert made of syrup and cocoa.

He closes his eyes and listens to Gwen and Arthur moving around in the kitchenette behind him. His head is full of images of them touching, goofing around, Gwen being pulled into the sea, splashing, saying, "Oh, stop it you idiot. Merlin, come into the water, it's amazing!"

Merlin waves; he's good where he is. He's fine. And he really doesn't know why he’s doing this to himself, why he doesn’t just move to the other side of the globe and not see this, but instead he drags himself along with them, without air to breathe because it's been stolen from his lungs by his best friends.

He feels warm pressure on his thighs and when he opens his eyes there's Gwen, leaning towards him, watching him. Merlin's heart stops. The world stops, too. The room is quiet, air still, not even a breath of sound from the cicadas. This is how Gwen used to look at Merlin before Arthur’s snatched her for himself, before he captured Merlin's heart, too.

Six years, Merlin thinks. Six fucking years, and yet he's still at square one, his stupid will not strong enough to get a grip, his brain locked and focused on them, always them.

Unmoving, Merlin looks back at Gwen, not daring to understand. Arthur's breath, sudden and hot on his neck, makes him inhale, and when Arthur sneaks a hand from behind, palm so wide and dark on Merlin's pink chest, Merlin still doesn't dare to believe.

He parts his lips as Gwen kisses him, gentle and sweet, the way she always used to. Her lips linger on Merlin's, but then Arthur's hand directs Merlin’s chin the other way, towards blue eyes so serious, not playful at all.

"Is this okay?" Arthur asks.

Merlin nods, his whole body tense, vibrating from the touch of the fingers on his chin.

"Will you be okay after?"

Merlin nods again, even though he won't be. This will be the breaking point and he won't ever be okay again. But maybe that’s what he needs.

He lets them take him to their bedroom, onto the bed he was trying so hard to avoid looking at. And when Gwen, all naked and shiny, sits down in one long move on Arthur's hard cock, nesting it deep inside her pussy, Merlin still doesn't believe it.

He places his hand on Gwen’s back, pushing gently until she’s lying on Arthur’s chest, legs on both sides of Arthur’s thighs and those perfect buttocks Merlin’s always adored on display, little hole visible like a dot of sweet pink cream in the heart of a muffin.

He prepares her as he would a man, easing his fingers in, one, then two. He lines his cock up, pushing in slowly.

“Oh, God, so full.” Gwen gasps, trying to move when he’s all the way in, and Merlin thinks, This is Arthur’s cock he’s feeling, rubbing through the thin layer of tissue inside of Gwen’s body.

Everything’s hot: Merlin’s skin’s burning and his eyes still sting. When he comes his arms tremble. He puts his forehead on Gwen’s back, breathing her skin, open-mouthed, with Arthur’s hand clasped around his.

The sound of their breathing is loud all of a sudden, louder than the buzz in Merlin’s ears. As they collapse, sweaty and warm, Merlin finds himself spooned by Arthur, cupped by the strong arms, with Arthur’s lips again on his neck, where the hairs are curling from the moisture. Gwen puts her palm on Merlin’s cheek, caresses once, before letting the hand fall, her lips parted against Merlin’s.

He sneaks out later, disentangling himself from all the limbs, and pours himself a glass of juice. He stands in the kitchenette, leaning on the fridge door, trying to ease the tremors of his body. He doesn’t turn when he hears the soft padding of bare feet behind him. He doesn’t allow himself to think what it means when Arthur pulls him into a hug, whispering, “You’ll be okay. We’ll all be.”

* * *

**#59**

Someone bumps against her in the crowd, and Morgana feels someone’s quick hand in her pocket. The market is crowded, and nobility and commoners alike are rubbing shoulders as they try to find holiday treats in one of the rickety stalls. She twists around and manages to catch the wrist of the person trying to steal her coin purse. Beautiful brown eyes meet hers, and Morgana doesn’t know what she expected, but it wasn’t a girl who’s still pretty, despite being covered in a layer of soot and dirt.

Not letting go, she retrieves the purse and puts it back in her pocket.

“Please, m’lady,” the girl says, “I just need to feed my little ones.”

Looking at her again, the girl looks older than Morgana thought at first glance, probably slightly younger than her own 25 years. She’s thin and dirty, but looks healthy otherwise.

“Please, m’lady...”

The girl – woman – makes a bid to get away, but Morgana keeps her wrist in a strong grip. She’s always been stubborn, and this isn’t an exception.

“Do you even have children?” she asks, and watches the woman flinch before straightening up and meeting her eyes again, this time searching.

The answer comes out more aggressive than it was probably intended.

“No, they’re all horrible little brats! But I need to eat, too.”

Morgana knows her offer isn’t that of a good Christian, but her mouth acts before she can stop herself.

“I live in the big brownstone by the square. Be there at seven tonight, and I’ll give you some money for food. Or...”

She closes her eyes and licks her dry lips before continuing. She’ll go to hell for what she’s thinking.

“Or I’ll fetch the police.”

The girl’s eyes widen, but she nods. When Morgana lets go of her wrist, she doesn’t linger. The crowd swallows her up, and Morgana is left feeling uneasy, and full of unclean thoughts.

***

The girl is actually right on time. When Morgana’s maid shows her into the sitting room, she looks around curiously, taking in the high ceiling, ornate windows, thick curtains, and the warm fire crackling in the stone fireplace. She seems to have cleaned up a bit – the dirt and soot are not as prevalent as in the marketplace – but she’s still wearing the same tattered dress.

Morgana dismisses the maid, who curtsies and closes the door behind her on the way out. 

“Sit,” Morgana says to the girl, fighting to keep her voice calm. “What’s your name? I’m Morgana, daughter of Lord Uther.”

“Gwen,” the girl says. “Daughter of Tom, the lower town blacksmith.”

“Yet you have to steal to survive?”

“He died a year ago. It’s not easy, getting by on your own, m’lady.”

Morgana nods thoughtfully, and comes to a decision. “I apologise for asking you to come. You shall have the money I promised, of course...”

But she doesn’t get further than that, as the girl rises and with two quick steps is right before her grabbing her neck. There’s a dry, chapped pair of lips on Morgana’s, but the kiss is warm and the tongue finding its way into her mouth is slick. It’s like her mind has wanted nothing more, because Morgana is unable to resist it.

She fumbles with the girl’s skirt, gets lost in the underskirt, but eventually reaches the smooth skin of a thigh. It feels like her fingers are made of embers, the way they burn.

“I want it,” Gwen sighs. She finds Morgana’s hand under the skirts and guides it to between her legs.

Initially, Morgana resists, but when she feels the first wetness, her curiosity takes over and she explores Gwen with her fingers. Rubbing, stroking, even pinching a bit. Gwen moans and leans into the hand, grasping Morgana’s shoulder to stay upright, occasionally bending down to place wet kisses on her face and neck.

It’s like opening a book and suddenly finding out you can read. Morgana’s always been uninterested in the men her father has paraded before her, but this... This is different.

When there’s a hard knock on the door the two women fly apart. Gwen quickly rearranges her dress and turns away from Morgana, wiping her mouth.

The door opens and Uther strides in.

“Father...!”

“Morgana, my darling! But... are you ill? You look flushed.”

At a loss for words, Morgana glances at Gwen. 

She gets nothing but a small, secret smile in return.

* * *

**#60**

When Merlin opened the barn door, Arthur was sleeping. Merlin was only supposed to come here when it was his turn to feed him, but he couldn’t stay away.

They lived in the Middle Of Nowhere, Wales, and there wasn’t a boy his age for miles. Merlin’s only hope for any company was whoever Mordred brought back.

He walked forward, then picked up the roll of tape nearby. He took a deep breath, preparing himself for the next part. Arthur woke after Merlin pressed the sticky side over his mouth and beard, muffling him.

“I’m sorry,” Merlin said, meaning it. “I just don’t want you to yell.”

Arthur looked at him like he’d gone mad. When Merlin stepped over the chain attached to Arthur’s handcuffs to get to the crank, and started turning to hoist Arthur up, arms above his head, the look turned more cautious and wary.

“I won’t hurt you,” Merlin said. “I’m not like the others.”

Arthur eyed him sceptically.

Merlin bit his lip and walked behind Arthur. His heart was racing and he couldn’t believe he was finally going to be able to do this but here he was at last, raising his hands to touch…

“Wow,” Merlin exhaled.

Arthur was so warm. He reeked of sweat and urine and the barn, and despite the weeks of captivity he was still obviously muscular. His sides were firm, his arse was so perfectly round…

“Mmmf!”

Arthur squirmed away when Merlin’s hands moved lower, but Merlin kept his grip firm. He ran his hands up and down Arthur’s chest, caressing under his raised shirt.

“Shh, be still.”

Merlin was so hard now, his cock aching to be free. He moved his fingers to the button of Arthur’s jeans, managing to get it undone even with Arthur squirming. They dropped to the ground, and Merlin sent Arthur’s pants along shortly after.

“Jesus,” he breathed.

“Hmmf mmf!”

“Won’t hurt you, I promise,” Merlin repeated as he dropped his pants. He heard Arthur sigh and figured Arthur had had the same thought as before, that it was no use resisting.

Merlin took a step back and rummaged through the pockets of the trousers pooled at his ankles, removing the things he’d brought from his room. He talked as he worked, hoping it would distract Arthur while also distracting himself from the gravity of the moment.

“I’m not that much younger than you, you know,” he rambled. “You’re only five years older. And I’ll be seventeen in three months.”

Arthur grunted.

“I’m not like my family,” Merlin said as he rolled on the condom. “I’m not going to hurt you. Well, not too much, I hope. The tape will probably hurt your beard coming off.”

Arthur didn’t make a sound.

Another deep inhale, and Merlin was spreading Arthur’s legs. An exhale, and Merlin was pushing forward, the tip of his cock burrowing deeper, the shaft slowly being engulfed by all-consuming heat.

“Oh God, Oh God.”

Just a bit further in, and then there was a whimper. Arthur’s head was hanging between his raised arms, and the muscles in his legs looked all tensed up, so Merlin could only assume it was a sound made from nerves.

“Have you ever had sex with a bloke before?” Merlin managed once he was all the way in. He had to keep still, just for a bit, or he’d come before even really getting started.

After a few seconds, Arthur shook his head.

“That makes two of us,” Merlin muttered.

He widened his stance and curled his fingers tighter around Arthur’s hips, going as slow as he could bear. It was from awe at first, at the wondrous sight of his cock disappearing into the vacuum of heat, then because he worried he was hurting Arthur. Arthur was being so quiet now, Merlin didn’t know what to make of it.

He only quickened his pace when he was sure Arthur wasn’t in pain. Then it was over ridiculously quickly. Only a dozen or so thrusts passed, and just as Merlin was thinking he wanted to do this all day, a wave of pleasure overtook him, heat clenching in his groin and shooting up.

“Ah, ah, oh _fuck_!”

Merlin didn’t want it over so soon. He slid out slowly but stayed for just a while, resting his head on the back of Arthur’s neck as he caught his breath.

“That was my first time,” he said after a while.

Arthur sighed. Merlin rubbed his nose over the knob of Arthur’s spine and grinned.

* * *

**#61**

This wasn’t the way it was supposed to go.

“You’re a siren,” Kara accused, pressing her knife closer to the other woman’s throat.

“And you’re resisting me,” the woman tilted her head to the side, unconcerned about the blade that was about to sink into her skin. She smirked and leaned back on the wall Kara was pushing her to, then slid her leg between Kara’s.

“Don’t,” Kara warned, squeezing her thighs around the woman’s. She huffed and grit her teeth, trying her hardest not to rut and ride the leg that was _just_ there. It was an offer for her to obey the woman’s allure and feed the desire that had her cunt pulsing with every whiff of the woman’s scent; she felt it with every breath she took and it was trying to pull her closer, closer, closer. “Don’t,” she choked out again and shook her head in a desperate attempt to clear it.

“Don’t worry,” the woman said in a sweet voice. One of her hands pried the knife away from Kara. “I won’t.”

Kara felt the woman wrap her arms around her before her knees gave way and darkness swallowed her.

~~~

“What happened?” Kara asked, then motioned to the cell she’d woken up in. “I thought I wasn’t a prisoner anymore.”

Mordred’s eyes widened. “You’re not!” He assured her. “I wasn’t guarding you. I’m only supposed to make sure you’re well before I lead you to Morgana.”

“I want to see her now.”

“But you—”

“Now.”

Mordred sighed and led the way. 

~

“What is she doing here?”

“Her name’s Sophia,” Morgana said, carefully gauging Kara’s reaction. “She’s with us now. What happened between you was a test, for both of you. I only need the best with me, Kara,” she raised her voice when Kara huffed and crossed her arms. “Now I know your loyalty is unconditional.”

“What about your loyalty?” Kara snapped. “You just threw me at her. She could’ve...”

“I didn’t do anything to you,” Sophia said. “And have you forgotten that you had your knife to my throat?”

“You were my target!”

“And you were mine.” The lack of emotion in Sophia’s voice was irritating.

Kara looked at Morgana, who just raised a questioning eyebrow. Kara sighed. “Whatever. What’s next?” 

~~~

“You spy on me a lot for someone who doesn’t want me around.”

Kara grit her teeth. “I can’t help it. I need to know you if we’re to work together.”

Sophia took a drag of her cigarette and offered the pack to Kara. She shook her head, but sat on the curb next to Sophia.

“So… do you have any other magic? Except for the allure?”

“Oh, yes.” Sophia smirked, then frowned. “I haven’t used it like that, you know,” she muttered. “And I never will.”

“I believe you.” Kara nodded. “Sorry I tried to kill you.”

Sophia chuckled. “It’s fine. It was a job. It was for Morgana.”

Kara nodded again. “We have to protect her.”

“And we will.”

~~~

They fell into each other’s arms, thrilled after the first job they’d done together. Kara swallowed down Sophia’s breathless laughter when their lips found each other in the darkness. 

~~~

“Mordred’s,” Kara panted, feeling heat pool between her thighs, “right outside.”

“He won’t hear us. I made sure,” Sophia said and lifted her skirt further up. She pulled Kara closer to her chest until Kara was laying back, relaxed and pliant, arching into her touches. “And even if he does,” Sophia added, fingers slipping down Kara’s underwear, “he’ll probably just blush and fidget in his place.”

“Yeah, he does that a lot,” Kara let out a breathless chuckle that turned into a moan when Sophia’s fingers found her clit and circled it gently. Sophia hummed and kissed her neck, slipped her other hand under Kara’s shirt to play with a nipple. “Yeah,” Kara breathed and pushed her hips up. 

“Should we make it quick?”

“I don’t,” Kara moaned. “Just, yeah,” she moaned when Sophia’s touches became harder, more insistent. “Fuck,” she groaned when the fingers rubbed faster and faster, slowed down only when Kara felt herself tighten up and released with a whimper.

Sophia slipped her hand further down, drove her fingers past Kara’s wet lips. Kara shuddered, picturing Sophia parting them and licking her clean.

“Come on,” she said and pulled Sophia’s hand out, turned around and gave her a kiss. “Your turn.”

Sophia smirked and her eyes gleamed when she whispered a word that left them bare against each other.

* * *


	8. Group D (clean)

**#62**

[](http://imgur.com/vhA5fyg)

* * *

**#63**

_Oh, Gwaine, so handsome, so selfless. Of course you shall have some supper . . . as long as you're prepared to sing for it._

[](http://imgur.com/w94uPi7)

* * *

**#64**

"Gotcha!"

[](http://imgur.com/6pVLyeD)

* * *

**#65**

[](http://imgur.com/79d3eYm)

* * *

**#66**

**Summary:** Arthur has snatched Morgana's favourite dress from her chambers (out of spite because she beat him at sword-fighting earlier) and found a most interesting object hidden amongst the many layers of fabric.

He immediately seeks out Merlin to show him his new toy.

[](http://imgur.com/1OXiz7d)

* * *

**#67**

**Morgana:** hey. miss you.   
**Morgana:** why did you screenshot that?   
**Gwen:** you know why ;)

[](http://imgur.com/9vTZmoZ)

* * *

**#68**

Snatching a moment before the Lady has to get up for the day. The flowers are sage and lavender, which are supposed to help you sleep. :)

[](http://imgur.com/bQVS23I)

* * *

**#69**

[](http://imgur.com/R2cKFi8)


End file.
